"
The seamen now seized the whale-line, and slowly drew their boat to
within a few feet of the tail of the fish, whose progress became
sensibly less rapid, as he grew weak with the loss of blood. In a few
minutes he stopped running, and appeared to roll uneasily on the water,
as if suffering the agony of death.
"Shall we pull in, and finish him, Tom?" cried Barnstable; "a few sets
from your bayonet would do it."
The cockswain stood examining his game with cool discretion, and replied
to this interrogatory:
"No, sir, no--he's going into his flurry; there's no occasion for
disgracing ourselves by using a soldier's weapon in taking a whale.
Starn off, sir, starn off! the creater's in his flurry!"
The warning of the prudent cockswain was promptly obeyed, and the boat
cautiously drew off to a distance, leaving to the animal a clear space,
while under its dying agonies. From a state of perfect rest, the
terrible monster threw its tail on high, as when in sport, but its blows
were trebled in rapidity and violence, till all was hid from view by a
pyramid of foam, that was deeply dyed with blood. The roarings of the
fish were like the bellowing of a herd of bulls; and to one who was
ignorant of the fact, it would have appeared as if a thousand monsters
were engaged in deadly combat behind the bloody mist that obscured the
view. Gradually, these effects subsided, and when the discolored water
again settled down to the long and regular swell of the ocean, the fish
was seen, exhausted, and yielding passively to its fate.
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