"Pull ahead, and pick up the wreck! We'll save all the craft we can, Mr. Dunham, but never mind the boat. We must let her go, and bear a hand aboard--it's breezing on all the time, and I expect we shall have it harder to-night. Don't stop for small matters; save the oars and line--boat's sail if you can. Set your waif, Mr. Grafton, for the ship--never mind, he's coming; I see her falling off now. Lay off a little from the wreck, boys; don't, for Heaven's sake, stave another boat now. There, that'll do; stand by to pull ahead. What's 'Cooper' running so far for? I wonder if he'll think to come to on the starboard tack, so as to hoist these boats to leeward. Yes! all right! there he braces up his mizzen topsail! Pull ahead, and let's get snug before night!"
The Arethusa came flying up to the wind with her topsails run down on the caps, and the jib at the boom-end slatting at a furious rate, as the overloaded boats pulled alongside under her lee.
"Keep your tackles up clear till we give the word! Look out on deck for some of this lumber! Bear a hand--what are you all staring at?" for the ship-keepers seemed to be paralyzed with dread, at not seeing the third mate in either of the boats.
"Light out now, all but two to hook on! Here, come to the falls, everybody, and stand by to run the boat up. Now's your time, Mr. Grafton--hook on--all ready, Bunker? _Fore and aft!_ Quick, boys, and take her out of water!"
The boats were fortunately secured in the cranes, without accident. The wind was piping on to a gale and a thick, driving mist, bringing an icy sensation with it from the southward, gave evidence that we were approaching the Cape Horn latitudes.
"Clew the fore and mizzentopsails right up, Mr, Grafton! Send some hands out to stow the jib--never mind hauling down the foretack--we shall have to reef the foresail soon. Make all snug as fast as you can, and have some small tackles ready for securing the lee-boats to-night." And the "old man" went below to find some dry clothing, and to indulge his feelings now that he had leisure to reflect upon the loss of Mr. Johnson.
The Arethusa was soon careening to the blast under her close-reefed maintopsail and staysails, the whole heavens shrouded in gloom, and, as the shades of night drew down upon the wild scene, each one seemed to realize that we had cause of congratulation in the fact of our timely arrival on board, and shuddered to think what might have been our fate, if exposed an hour or two longer in open boats, had the whale run us some distance from the ship before the thick weather shut down hiding her from view. It is at such times that the seaman feels his own nothingness, and realizes his dependence on the mercy of Heaven. The whaleman, in particular, has frequent cause to feel how narrowly he has escaped such dangers. Even other mariners have little idea of the risks encountered by this class of men; for whalemen form the only branch of the profession who may be truly said to make their home on the ocean; to "go _down_ to the sea in ships," while others skim across it; and in a literal sense, to "_do business_ on the great waters."