So Priscilla sat aft, soaking her soul in beauty and utterly oblivious of her surroundings, until even her inexperienced eye detected a returning boat--one that neared the ship at a great rate, the oars rising and falling as if steam driven, and with a feather of spray at her bow, showing at what a high rate of speed she was approaching. Priscilla slipped quickly below, her heart full of thankfulness that she had been enabled to get a glimpse of the sea and sky, and also that she had succeeded in retreating before the advent of her husband. Truly she had but little margin of time, for he, standing erect in his boat’s stern, had been watching the ship with vulture eyes, and before she had been ten minutes below he was on board, his awful voice ringing fore and aft like that of some destroying angel.
Seven cow whales had been killed, and the securing of them alongside meant a truly herculean task, which was prolonged until nearly midnight, by which time the vessel looked as if she was the centre of an island of flame. Surrounded by these great carcasses against which the sea broke in lambent light, the rendezvous for tens of thousands of sharks, whose swift coming and going through the phosphorus-charged waves made them glow like the moon, the scene was one of almost awful beauty. But none there took any notice of it. The crew, half dead with fatigue, stumbled about obeying mechanically the orders given, but hardly able to keep awake, much less pull or lift as they were ordered. At last the mate approached the skipper, saying: ‘Cap’n Da Silva, hadn’t I better order the men to rest awhile? I’m afraid we’ll be losing some of ’em overboard if I don’t, they’re all so dead beat, sir.’ Looking around to see if any of the men were within hearing, the skipper took a step towards the mate, and with a perfectly devilish glare in his eyes, said: ‘Yew lazy American pig, yew dirty helpless dog, I’ll teach yew t’ interfere with _my_ business. I’d jes’ soon kill ye as look at ye, f’r all th’ good y’ are. But I’ll do worse ’n that. I’ll make yew wish yew was dead, hunderds of times ’fore I’m done with ye.’ Up flew the mate’s fist as he made a spring towards his skipper, but as he sprang he was confronted by the muzzles of two revolvers in the skipper’s hands. He stopped with a groan--the thought of his dear ones at home in Fairhaven was too much for him; and as he fell back he heard a chuckle overhead, and there was a Portuguese harpooner on the top of the house with another revolver pointed at him. ‘Wall,’ drawled the skipper, ‘y’ see I’m heeled. I’m layin’ fur ye every time. Ef y’ git t’ windward of me yew’ve only one more t’ git ahead of, an’ thet’s Satin himself. I tell ye, I’m goin’ t’ make this ship hell f’r all of ye, but yew an’ th’ secon’ mate specially. But if y’ wa’n’t such curs, yew’d take y’r chances. I don’t mind dyin’ a little bit, ’n’ ef yew liked to try it on at a little risk why y’ mout git my gun an’ shoot me.’