"Now, lads, you face round to paddle, you can all see him. I declare, he's a noble fellow--ninety barrels under his hide, if there's a drop. Bunker, do you see that fellow? he's got a back like a ten-acre lot--paddle hard, lads--if you miss him, go right overboard yourself, and don't come up again--long and strong stroke, boys, on your paddles. See that boat coming? that's Ray, the second mate of the Pandora--three or four more spouts, and we'll have him--he's ours sure! they can't get here in time--scratch hard, boys! don't hit your paddles on the gunwale. Stand up, Bunker, and get your jibtack clear! Don't let them 'gally' you, if they shout in that boat." "All right!" said his boatsteerer, with his eager hand resting on the iron pole. "Never fear, sir." "Paddle hard, lads, a stroke or two. That's right, Bunker. Keep cool, my boy. Keep cool, and make sure of him." A wild and prolonged shout rang on the air from six sturdy pairs of lungs in the Pandora's waist-boat, as Mr. Ray, seeing that he was baffled, let fly his sheets and rounded to, a ship's length to windward. It was too late, however. "All right," said Father Grafton, in the same dry, quiet tone, as before. "Hold your hand, Bunker. Hold your hand, boy, till you're past his hump--another shoot, lads--way enough, in paddles. Now, Bunker! give it to him! Down to your oars the rest. _Give him t'other one, boy!_ Well done! both irons to the hitches. Hold water, all! Bear a hand, now, and roll up that sail. Wet line, Tom! wet line! Where's your bucket? All ready with your sail, Bunker? Let her come then--all right. Come aft here, now, and let me get a dig at him." The line was spinning round the loggerhead with a whizzing noise, and a smoking heat, as the huge leviathan, stung to the quick, darted down into the depths of the ocean. Bunker threw on the second round turn to check him, and jamming the bight of the line over the stern sheets, watched it carefully as it flew through his grasp; while the mate cleared his lance, and got ready to renew the attack. Every moment his anxiety increased as he kept turning his head, and looking at the tub of line, rapidly settling, as the whale ran it out. "I declare, I believe he'll take all my line. Blacksmith! pass along the drug! Check him hard, Bunker!" then, seeing the other boats near at hand, he opened his throat, and, for the first time, we learned the power of Father Grafton's lungs. "Spring hard, Mr. Dunham! I want your line! Cast off your craft, and stand by to throw your line to me! Spring hard! _Do!_"