The day was drawing to a close when another whale was seen floating idly close to us. The possibility of obtaining another rich prize was not to be lost. Mr Brand had served for three years in a whaler, and was now doing duty as mate. He ordered a boat to be manned. Jerry and I entreated that we might accompany him. "One only can go," he answered; "I am very sorry." The lot fell upon me. Jerry was never jealous. "Old Surley and I will take care of each other," he answered. Away we went. A long, low island was in sight from the mast-head. The other boats could nowhere be seen. We got up to the whale before she sounded. I fancy she was asleep. The harpoon Mr Brand shot into her awakened her up. Off she went in the direction of the land, at a great rate. I wished Jerry had been with us. It was so pleasant to be dragged along at so furious a rate, the foam flying over the bows of the boat. Formerly harpoons were always darted by the hand. Now fire-arms are used. The butt of the harpoon is placed in the barrel, and the rope is attached to it by a chain. Less skill and strength is required to strike the whale, but just as much skill and experience is requisite to avoid being struck in return and smashed to atoms by the wounded animal. Whenever the whale slackened her speed, we hauled up in the hope of getting another harpoon into her, but she was soon off again; then she sounded, and we were nearly losing our line. Again she rose; a second harpoon was run into her. Off she was again. At length blood mingled with the foam from her spouts. With fury she lashed the water around. "Back! back for your lives!" shouted Mr Brand. Well it was that we got out of her way in time. One blow from those tremendous flukes would have destroyed us.