Harry tumbled up lively, indeed, but he was at the heels of the members of the crew, who had been below at the call, for all that. He found himself in a new world. During the early morning hours the ship had entered the southern edge of the Bering Sea ice, and was steaming steadily northward into it. Thus far the ice was neither thick nor in force, scattered floes to the right and left leaving open leads through which the vessel pressed, rubbing her sides against floating fragments as she passed. It was this scattered “slush” that had made the grating sound on the ship’s side. A big bowhead was playing leisurely along in the broken ice some distance ahead, now diving beneath a floe, now appearing in an open space, feeding, and unconscious of danger. The open water and the ice round about was no longer the clear green which it had been, but was turbid with a brownish substance like mother-of-vinegar. “What’s that stuff?” asked Harry. “Whale food,” answered Joe; “the sea is full of it about here at this time of year.” “Well, I’m glad I’m not a whale,” said Harry; “I’d hate to eat that.” The brown, muddy, clotted messes were even frozen into the ice. They consist of minute forms of low-grade animal life, and are certainly not palatable in appearance. Yet the bowhead is fond of them. He sculls along with his mouth wide open, the bone in his upper jaw reaching down to his lower lip on either side, and making of his mouth a cavern into which food, water, and all enter. Once the great mouth is full he pushes his enormous spongy tongue up into it, squeezes the water out through the whalebone sieve, and swallows the food left behind. One bell sounded in the engine-room. The throb of the screw ceased, and the Bowhead glided gently along an open space of water toward her namesake. “That fellow will go sixty barrels, and a good lot of bone,” said Captain Nickerson. “Lower away there!” Two whaleboats were swung over the side, the first mate in charge of one, Captain Nickerson in the other. Joe was left behind, nominally in charge of the ship, and Harry, of course, remained with him. His nerves were a-tingle with the excitement of the chase, and he ardently wished he might be in one of the two boats. “Hard luck, isn’t it?” said Joe, who noticed his excitement. “Tell you what, we’ll get ready for a strike ourselves. There’s likely to be more than one bowhead about, and we’ll get up some gear in case they want more of it. Here, Billy,”—this to one of the Kanakas on deck,—“get up a couple of tubs of that extra line.” “There’s no knowing how soon we’ll want another boat away. I’ll get up another bomb gun and a supply of ammunition. Then we’ll be heeled, as they say in Frisco.”