How much the whale fishery depends upon chance is shown by the following facts. In the year 1718 the Dutch Greenland fleet, consisting of 108 ships, captured 1291 fish, worth at least 650,000_l._, while in the year 1710, 137 ships took no more than 62. Various meteorological circumstances--the prevalence of particular winds, the character of the summer or preceding winter--are probably the causes of the extraordinary failure and success of the fishery in different years. The Pacific is as fallacious as the Arctic seas. Thus Dumont d'Urville met in the Bay of Talcahuano with several whalers, one of whom had rapidly filled half his ship, while the others had cruised more than a year without having harpooned a single fish. In such cases the captains have the greatest trouble in preventing their men from deserting, who, being disappointed in their hopes, naturally enough look out for a better chance elsewhere. The method of whale catching has been so often and so minutely described, that it is doubtless familiar to the reader. As soon as a whale is in sight, boats are got out with all speed, and row or sail as silently and quietly as possible towards the monster. One of the crew--the man of unflinching eye and nervous arm--stands upright, harpoon in hand, ready to hurl the murderous spear into the animal's side, as soon as the proper moment shall have come. When struck the whale dives down perpendicularly with fearful velocity, or goes off horizontally with lightning speed, at a short distance from the surface, dragging after him the line to which the barbed instrument of his agony is fixed. But soon the necessity of respiration forces him to rise again above the waters, when a second harpoon, followed by a third or fourth at every reappearance, plunges into his flank. Maddened with pain and terror, he lashes the crimsoned waters into foam, but all his efforts to cast off the darts that lacerate his flesh are vain, and his gaping wounds, though not "as deep as wells, nor as wide as church-doors," are still large enough to let out sufficient blood even to exhaust a whale. His movements become more and more languid and slow, his gasping and snorting more and more oppressed, a few convulsive heavings agitate the mighty mass, and then it floats inert and lifeless on the waters. As soon as death is certain--for to the last moment a convulsive blow of the mighty tail might dash the overhasty boat to pieces--the whale is lashed by chains to the vessel's side, stripped of his valuable fat, and then left to float, a worthless carcase, on the heaving ocean.