“No,” I replied. “Why, they sink.” “I didn’t know that, Mr. Lakeum. None of our men ever told me.” “Yes, they sink, just as so many right whales do. That monster there is worth seven thousand dollars, good, and it would be a pity to lose him.” The words were hardly uttered when Lakeum shouted, “Don’t look right, Silva; settling a little.” There was apprehension, indeed consternation, in the boats. It was true that the whale was settling. When men don’t know what to do, they often shout, and this is what the men in Silva’s boat did, and when the order came to cut the tow-line, they shouted still louder. Then, as the great whale disappeared, the noise subsided, and as both boats pulled for the vessel, Silva was the picture of despair. The captain had witnessed the unfortunate accident from the ship and was inclined to blame Silva. “Well, I killed the whale, didn’t I, Captain?” “Yes.” “Am I to blame then, if he sunk?” There was no answer to this question. The captain muttered, “I don’t see why so many of these bowheads sink.” Since passing Bering Strait we had seen several ships in the distance, but they were not near enough to hail. And now a vessel was bearing down on us—presumably not for a gam but for information. She proved to be the _Awashonks_, a vessel with a remarkable history. I was standing near the gangway when her captain boarded us. The _Awashonks_ was three years from home, and the captain was anxious for the latest news. There was little for Captain Gamans to communicate, so the conversation, which was necessarily brief, related to their respective voyages. “We have just lost a whale,” said our captain. “He sank. I suppose you’ve had bowheads sink, haven’t you?” “Not on this voyage,” replied the visitor. “I learned the trick on the last voyage. Every bowhead we kill we cut-in, try-out and stow down, never lose one. If whalemen had learned the trick years ago, there wouldn’t be so many bowheads at the bottom of the ocean.” The visiting captain evidently had information to convey, but didn’t want to give it voluntarily. It seemed to me that he wanted Captain Gamans to ask for it. There was a pause. Then our captain said: “I suppose sinking is due to the condition of the whale. I don’t suppose lancing has anything to do with it.” “Lancing has everything to do with it. That’s where the trick comes in. You lance a bowhead or a right whale over the shoulder blade, directing the lance downward, and it will kill him in the shortest time, but he’ll be pretty sure to sink, because there’ll be a rushing escape of air, shown in large bubbles rising through the water. Lance him straight or a little upwards and it’ll take more time to kill him and be more dangerous, but you’ll save your property.” The visitor assumed a triumphant air. I never saw Captain Gamans play his part better. He expressed his thanks for the information and then said, in an off-hand way: