The orgy of devils about the pots became more of an orgy than ever, although the devils no longer laughed. In the weird light and the black smoke which, at times, rolled down and hid the whole thing from me, the devils ran to and fro, and there was a confusion of shoutings for perhaps a minute. Then I heard the mate’s voice bellowing orders, and the other shouting grew less, but in place of it I heard the grunting of men struggling with something heavy, or using every muscle in pulling. The whole {51} thing seemed unreal to me, like a sketch of Doré’s for a scene in Hell—although at that time I had never heard of Doré—and I remember that I leaned back against the bulwarks and laughed to myself. Peter had left me, and I had moved clear of the jaw of the whale, but it never occurred to me to do anything to help. No doubt I should only have been cursed by the mate and by everybody else, for I should not have had the least idea what to do, and I did not even know the names of things. But it is nothing to my credit that I did not offer my blundering help, for I simply did not think of it. At last the flame died away and there was but little smoke and that of a sickly grayish tinge, as if it were the ghost of what it had hoped to be. I saw the two captains standing together, aft, watching silently, and Peter joined me again, very black and dirty. “A narrow squeak, Timmie,” he said. “I thought the ship would catch afire in spite of us.” “What was the matter, Peter?” I asked. “What did it?” He turned to me with his humorous smile. Peter Bottom always had an air of detachment in his way of looking at things which sometimes concerned him very nearly. “Does your mother never fry doughnuts,” he said, “in deep fat?” I nodded—and I had a sudden lump in my throat. My mother did that, and often; and her doughnuts were—but it was not of doughnuts I was thinking. “Well,” Peter went on, “your mother would not have asked me that question. Does the fat never catch afire?” I shook my head. “It never does when mother fries them. I tried it once, and it did. Was that the reason?” “Just that,” he said. And then our boat was ordered away, and Peter ran. The red sun was resting on the rim of the sea as we {52} started back. From my place in the bow I watched it, and I lost myself. Our course was directly in the golden track that led to the sun, and whales and the black smoke of blubber and oily decks had no place in my thoughts as I saw the sun sink into the sea. {53} CHAPTER VI