What a change! Now, every wave has a snow-white cap; they tower high on all sides, and the vessel is tossed to and fro like a toy. Gulls and teistes sweep rapidly along the furrows between the waves, rise nearly perpendicularly as the wave breaks, and, just clearing the comb, dive into the next watery valley. ‘Look, look, what a tremendous puff!’ ‘That’s a big one.’ ‘Look, look—puff, puff!’ ‘There are a good many here.’ We are in the middle of a flock of the giants of the sea. The enormous brown and blue bodies rise out of the sea; the back is bent upwards—it looks like the bottom of a capsized ship; it disappears; but the sea becomes almost calm where the whale went down, and several minutes elapse before the waves are able to conquer the calm. From time to time, deep dull snorts are heard, thundering and trembling, as if the deepest strings of a dozen double-basses were being played down below; and at others, a sharp swishing sound like an enormous fountain suddenly set to play, and a column of crystal spray ascends some thirty feet into the air. The gigantic, glistening body appears on the surface; the back is bent upwards a second, and it again disappears. It looks as if the whale was warm and comfortable enough; the sea-water, to us looking so cold, plays pleasantly around it; hot steam issues from its dilated nostrils, and it seems like a man enjoying a refreshing morning dip. During the last quarter of an hour we have seen some forty whales; but none has come within range. The gun has no certainty much beyond thirty yards, so that the whale must be nearly under the ship’s bow when firing. As we stand looking at this magnificent spectacle, the water close round the ship suddenly becomes light green in colour and somewhat calm. Then a deep heavy thunder; the ship trembles from stem to stern; a great column of dampness is shot into the air, drenching us all, a dull snort, and an enormous blue-whale rises out of the sea a few yards on our starboard side. Now the captain will fire, we think, involuntarily holding on to the wire-rigging; but Foyn stands by his gun without making the least movement, and the next second the whale again descends into its watery home. The range was probably not a good one. A few minutes after, the same thunder, the same sensation, the same column, and the same snort—another whale appears close on the port side. The captain turns the gun, whilst we watch with beating hearts the movements of the animal as well as his own. Every second seems an eternity. He raises the gun, aims. Alas! a heavy sea strikes the vessel, heels her over; the gun is lowered, but the whale is gone. They seem all to have disappeared now, not a puff to be seen. We stand and talk about the incident, and somebody suggests to go aft and ‘have a smoke;’ when suddenly two whales are seen some distance off, now going side by side, now behind each other. The helm is turned, and we follow them in hot haste through wind and waves.