The heaviest work was to come in getting the junk inboard. It was roused forward into the waist, and after considerable "overhauling" and "rounding up," and some hard service for Bunker in getting a chain strap through the "junk," it was at last cut from the "case" and fairly hung in the tackles. All hands went to the windlass; the waist gang, the third and second mates found room with the rest; even Father Grafton lent a hand, and encouraged the others to lay out their strength on the bars. The captain again pervaded the whole deck, glancing anxiously aloft at his masthead pendants and tacklefalls to see how they bore the immense strain, and from time to time breaking forth in a sort of exhortation, half-command, half-entreaty, "Heave hard, men! Heave and raise him! Few squares more and we'll have him!" The good cordage of the falls groaned under the tension, as each ropeyarn seemed to yield a little to assist the rest, and the Arethusa heeled lower and lower at each additional "downpawls!" of the windlass, till her starboard plankshear was but little above the surface of the water. Slowly but steadily, by almost imperceptible degrees, the ponderous junk rose from its watery bed, its scarred black skin showing, in the ragged furrows and white streaks on its surface the marks of many a shock received in angry encounters with other sea monsters, and the mingled oil and water streaming at every pore and running in a gush from the hole where the chain-strap was cutting and jamming into the fat under the fearful strain. The mainmast-head itself could be seen to "give" sensibly to the weight, and the larboard main-shrouds to stiffen like bars of iron. "Heave, boys! Square or two more!" said the captain, as the mighty mass began to cant inboard. "That's lively! Downpawls again! That watchtackle ready boatsteerers? High enough! Lay aft here, and get this tackle ready! There he swings lower! Lower away! Hook on and rouse him aft! What time is it? Slide him well aft, Mr. Grafton, out of the way! Steward! pass up my quadrant? We'll get dinner, Mr. Grafton, before we sling the case." "An' sure," said Farrell, as he came sliding and tumbling aft with the rest, to haul the tackle, "and is that his head, now?" "Head? no!" growled Old Jeff, "that's only a small piece of it."