"Knows better," said Johannes, smiling in his grave way; "dogs have got more sense than we think for." "Cooks' boys haven't," said Steve shortly, as he heard a low, jeering chuckle, and saw that Watty had been watching him all the time, and now drew in his head for a few moments, but thrust it out again to indulge in another grin, which made Steve writhe and show his annoyance so plainly that the Norseman said quietly: "Don't take any notice of his sauce." "No, I won't," said Steve shortly, as the head was withdrawn. But the next moment--the cook being apparently too much engaged to notice the conduct of his help--Watty thrust out his head again, and, seeing the annoyance he gave, uttered another low, derisive chuckle. Steve, unable to control himself, made an angry gesture, and the boy withdrew his grinning face. "He'll do it again directly," thought Steve; and, acting on the impulse of the moment, he caught up the bear's head, ran sharply the few steps to the galley door, stood ready close up to the side waiting; and as Watty thrust out his face again grinning, it was into another so fierce and horrible-looking that he stood for a moment petrified, and then uttered a loud yell, darted back, and slammed to the door. Steve felt better after that, and hurriedly returned the bear's head prior to seeing about breakfast, for another odour saluted his nostrils, that of frizzling bacon--so suggestive a smell to a hungry lad that he made for the cabin at once, to find the captain, Mr Lowe, and Mr Handscombe just gathered for their morning meal. The breakfast was hardly over when there was a hail from aloft, where Andrew McByle was occupying the crow's-nest. "There she spouts!" he cried; and Steve was the first on deck to see the whale, for he knew the meaning of the sailor's cry. Running to the main-mast he mounted the shrouds for some twenty feet, and then, with his arm thrust through the ratlines and embracing one of the taut stays of the mast, he stood gazing in astonishment at the sight before him. For he had hurried on deck fully expecting to see one of the great dark Greenland whales diving down after food, coming to the surface again to blow, and then throw its flukes high in the air with a flourish as it dived once more. But, instead of a single whale, the sea appeared to be alive with them, playing about in the water, gambolling on the surface or diving under. Then they were up again, making the sea foam as they flourished their tails, uttered a strange, faint, snorting sound as they blew and whistled, and dived down once more. But it was not playing, for they were in chase of an enormous shoal of small fish, upon which they were feasting. There was quite an excitement amongst the men, who, without waiting for orders, saw to the tackle in the boats, Johannes and Petersen hastening to add white whale harpoons to the rest of the implements.