It happened that, in the case of our whale, when all but the last lashing were cut, one of the crew of the whaler, who was standing on the carcass, got his feet entangled in some of the cordage remaining on it. Just as the last stay was severed, he was discovered, and was rapidly being drawn to the bottom of the sea, when Old Nick threw a rope about his shoulders, and this served to hold him up. But, in the interim, the entire weight of the enormous skeleton was sustained by the body of the unfortunate seaman, who thereupon began to shriek out in mortal agony. The poor fellow would very probably have been dismembered, had not our heroic and shark-defying Snollygoster jumped overboard, with a knife, and severed the lashings by which he was held to the carcass. The latter immediately disappeared, followed by a great whirlpool of brine. Had the man not been caught, he would have been dragged down many fathoms below the sea; had his feet not been released from the weight of the carcass in time, he would very probably have been disjointed and slain with horrible agonies. As it was, he was more scared than hurt, and Snollygoster added another plume to his cap. Before I quit our whaling experience, I must recur to another striking event of a more truly tragic character than the one just described. We had captured a whaler from Southampton under very similar circumstances with the foregoing. Her boats were out--all but one--and I got permission from the captain to accompany this one, as I was anxious to see a whale capture through, from its inception to its close. There were six boats in all, and ours the hindmost, but the whale--a very large one--dove and came up nearest us, so that we got in the first harpoon. Our harpooner, an athletic Yorkshireman, stood up in the bow of the boat, and struck home in the broad back of the whale as it rose above the water. The whale went down like lightning at the first prick of the harpoon. The lines connected with the harpoon are carefully coiled around in the middle of large tubs, with grooves at the bow for them to slip over. When a whale dives, these lines run out with indescribable swiftness. The groove fairly smokes, and several buckets of water are always dashed upon it to prevent the boat from taking fire. At the same time, a leg or an arm, caught in one of the coils, would be almost certain death to the owner. On the occasion of which I speak, one of the oarsmen, with his back to the bow of the boat, had carelessly stepped into one of these tubs when the whale was struck. Down went the whale with a flash and a whirlpool. The man saw his danger, but too late, and just had time to sing out, "Clear away the line!" when he was whipped overboard and was never seen again. We played havoc among the whalers for a long time, capturing as many as thirty valuable vessels, and sending them home.