It was only what might be expected that the dog’s singular exhibition of sagacity should repeatedly form a subject of conversation between Mrs. Weldon, the captain, and Dick. The young apprentice in particular began to entertain a lurking feeling of distrust towards Negoro, although it must be owned that the man’s conduct in general afforded no tangible grounds for suspicion.

Nor as it only among the stern passengers that Dingo’s remarkable feat was discussed; amongst the crew in the bow the dog not only soon gained the reputation of being able to read, but was almost credited with being able to write too, as well as any sailor among them; indeed the chief wonder was that he did not speak.

“Perhaps he can,” suggested Bolton, the helmsman, “and likely enough some fine day we shall have him coming to ask about our bearings, and to inquire which way the wind lies.”

“Ah! why not?” assented another sailor; “parrots talk, and magpies talk; why shouldn’t a dog? For my part, I should guess it must be easier to speak with a mouth than with a beak.”

“Of course it is,” said Howick, the boatswain; “only a quadruped has never yet been known to do it.”

Perhaps, however, the worthy fellow would have been amazed to hear that a certain Danish savant once possesed a dog that could actually pronounce quite distinctly nearly twenty different words, demonstrating that the construction

[Illustration: “This Dingo is nothing out of the way.”]

of the glottis, the aperture at the top of the windpipe, was adapted for the emission of regular sounds: of course the animal attached no meaning to the words it uttered any more than a parrot or a jay can comprehend their own chatterings.

Thus, unconsciously, Dingo had become the hero of the hour. On several separate occasions Captain Hull repeated the experiment of spreading out the blocks before him, but invariably with the same result; the dog never failed, without the slightest hesitation, to pick out the two letters, leaving all the rest of the alphabet quite unnoticed.

Cousin Benedict alone, somewhat ostentatiously, professed to take no interest in the circumstance.

“You cannot suppose,” he said to Captain Hull, after various repetitions of the trick, “that dogs are to be reckoned the only animals endowed with intelligence Rats, you know, will always leave a sinking ship, and beavers invariably raise their dams before the approach of a flood. Did not the horses of Nicomedes, Scanderberg and Oppian die of grief for the loss of their masters? Have there not been instances of donkeys with wonderful memories? Birds, too, have been trained to do the most remarkable things; they have been taught to write word after word at their master’s dictation; there are cockatoos who can count the people in a room as accurately as a mathematician; and haven’t you heard of the old Cardinal’s parrot that he would not part with for a hundred gold crowns because it could repeat the Apostles’ creed from beginning to end without a blunder? And insects,” he continued, warming into enthusiasm, “how marvellously they vindicate the axiom—

‘In minimis maximus Deus!’

Are not the structures of ants the very models for the architects of a city? Has the diving-bell of the aquatic argyroneta ever been surpassed by the invention of the most skilful student of mechanical art? And cannot fleas go through a drill and fire a gun as well as the most accomplished artilleryman? This Dingo is nothing out of the way. I suppose he belongs to some unclassed species of mastiff. Perhaps one day or other he may come to be identified as the ‘canis alphabeticus’ of New Zealand.”

The worthy entomologist delivered this and various similar harangues; but Dingo, nevertheless, retained his high place in the general estimation, and by the occupants of the forecastle was regarded as little short of a phenomenon. The feeling, otherwise universal, was not in any degree shared by Negoro, and it is not improbable that the man would have been tempted to some foul play with the dog if the open sympathies of the crew had not kept him in check. More than ever he studiously avoided coming in contact in any way with the animal, and Dick Sands in his own mind was quite convinced that since the incident of the letters, the cook’s hatred of the dog had become still more intense.

After continual alternations with long and wearisome calms the north-east wind perceptibly moderated, and on the both, Captain Hull really began to hope that such a change would ensue as to allow the schooner to run straight before the wind. Nineteen days had elapsed since the “Pilgrim” had left Auckland, a period not so long but that with a favourable breeze it might be made up at last. Some days however were yet to elapse before the wind veered round to the anticipated quarter.

It has been already stated that this portion of the Pacific is almost always deserted. It is out of the line of the American and Australian steam-packets, and except a whaler had been brought into it by some such exceptional circumstances as the “Pilgrim,” it was quite unusual to see one in this latitude.

But, however void of traffic was the surface of the sea, to none but an unintelligent mind could it appear monotonous or barren of interest. The poetry of the ocean breathes forth in its minute and almost imperceptible changes. A marine plant, a tuft of seaweed lightly furrowing the water, a drifting spar with its unknown history, may afford unlimited scope—for the imagination; every little drop passing, in its process of evaporation, backwards and

[Illustration: Occasionally Dick Sands would take a pistol, and now and then a rifle.]

forwards from sea to sky, might perchance reveal its own special secret; and happy are those minds which are capable of a due appreciation of the mysteries of air and ocean.

Above the surface as well as below, the restless flood is ever teaming with animal life; and the passengers on board the “Pilgrim” derived no little amusement from watching great flocks of birds migrating northwards to escape the rigour of the polar winter, and ever and again descending in rapid flight to secure some tiny fish. Occasionally Dick Sands would take a pistol, and now and then a rifle, and, thanks to Mr. Weldon’s former instructions, would bring down various specimens of the feathered tribe.

Sometimes white petrels would congregate in considerable numbers near the schooner; and sometimes petrels of another species, with brown borders on their wings, would come in sight; now there would be flocks of damiers skimming the water; and now groups of penguins, whose clumsy gait appears so ludicrous on shore; but, as Captain Hull pointed out, when their stumpy wings were employed as fins, they were a match for the most rapid of fish, so that sailors have often mistaken them for bonitos.

High over head, huge albatrosses, their outspread wings measuring ten feet from tip to tip, would soar aloft, thence to swoop down towards the deep, into which they plunged their beaks in search of food. Such incidents and scenes as these were infinite in their variety, and it was accordingly only for minds that were obtuse to the charms of nature that the voyage could be monotonous.

On the day the wind shifted, Mrs. Weldon was walking up and down on the “Pilgrim’s” stern, when her attention was attracted by what seemed to her a strange phenomenon. All of a sudden, far as the eye could reach, the sea had assumed a reddish hue, as if it were tinged with blood.

Both Dick and Jack were standing close behind her, and she cried,—

“Look, Dick, look! the sea is all red. Is it a sea-weed that is making the water so strange a colour?

“No,” answered Dick, “it is not a weed; it is what the sailors call whales’ food; it is formed, I believe, of innumerable myriads of minute crustacea.”

“Crustacea they may be,” replied Mrs. Weldon, “but they must be so small that they are mere insects. Cousin Benedict no doubt will like to see them.”

She called aloud,—

“Benedict! Benedict! come here! we have a sight here to interest you.”

The amateur naturalist slowly emerged from his cabin followed by Captain Hull.

“Ah! yes, I see!” said the captain; “whales’ food; just the opportunity for you, Mr. Benedict; a chance not to be thrown away for studying one of the most curious of the crustacea.”

“Nonsense!” ejaculated Benedict contemptuously; “utter nonsense!”

“Why? what do you mean, Mr. Benedict?” retorted the captain; “surely you, as an entomologist, must know that I am right in my conviction that these crustacea belong to one of the six classes of the articulata.”

The disdain of Cousin Benedict was expressed by a repeated sneer.

“Are you not aware, sir, that my researches as an entomologist are confined entirely to the hexapoda?”

Captain Hull, unable to repress a smile, only answered good-humouredly,—

“I see, sir, your tastes do not lie in the same direction as those of the whale.”

And turning to Mrs. Weldon, he continued,—

“To whalemen, madam, this is a sight that speaks for itself. It is a token that we ought to lose no time in getting out our lines and looking to the state of our harpoons. There is game not far away.”

Jack gave vent to his astonishment.

“Do you mean that great creatures like whales feed on such tiny things as these?”

“Yes, my boy,” said the captain; “and I daresay they are as nice to them as semolina and ground rice are to you.

When a whale gets into the middle of them he has nothing to do but to open his jaws, and, in a minute, hundreds of thousands of these minute creatures are inside the fringe or whalebone around his palate, and he is sure of a good mouthful.”

“So you see, Jack,” said Dick, “the whale gets his shrimps without the trouble of shelling them.”

“And when he has just closed his snappers is the very time to give him a good taste of the harpoon,” added Captain Hull.

The words had hardly escaped the captain’s lips when a shout from one of the sailors announced,—

“A whale to larboard!”

“There’s the whale!” repeated the captain. All his professional instincts were aroused in an instant, and he hurried to the bow, followed in eager curiosity by all the stern passengers.

Even Cousin Benedict loitered up in the rear, constrained, in spite of himself, to take a share in the general interest.

There was no doubt about the matter. Four miles or so to windward an unusual commotion in the water betokened to experienced eyes the presence of a whale; but the distance was too great to permit a reasonable conjecture to be formed as to which species of those mammifers the creature belonged.

Three distinct species are familiarly known. First there is the Right whale, which is ordinarily sought for in the northern fisheries. The average length of this cetacean is sixty feet, though it has been known to attain the length of eighty feet. It has no dorsal fin, and beneath its skin is a thick layer of blubber. One of these monsters alone will yield as much as a hundred barrels of oil.

Then there is the Hump-back, a typical representative of the species “balænoptera,” a definition which may at first sight appear to possess an interest for an entomologist, but which really refers to two white dorsal fins, each half as wide as the body, resembling a pair of wings, and in their formation similar to those of the flying-fish. It must be owned, however, that a flying whale would decidedly be a rara avis .

Lastly, there is the Jubarte, commonly known as the Finback. It is provided with a dorsal fin, and in length not unfrequently is a match for the gigantic Right whale.

While it was impossible to decide to which of the three species the whale in the distance really belonged, the general impression inclined to the belief that it was a jubarte.

With longing eyes Captain Hull and his crew gazed at the object of general attraction. Just as irresistibly as it is said a clockmaker is drawn on to examine the mechanism of every clock which chance may throw in his way, so is a whaleman ever anxious to plunge his harpoon into any whale that he can get within his reach. The larger the game the more keen the excitement; and no elephant-hunter’s eagerness ever surpasses the zest of the whale-fisher when once started in pursuit of the prey.

To the crew the sight of the whale was the opening of an unexpected opportunity, and no wonder they were fired with the burning hope that even now they might do something to supply the deficiency of their meagre haul throughout the season.

Far away as the creature still was, the captain’s practised eye soon enabled him to detect various indications that satisfied him as to its true species. Amongst other things that arrested his attention, he observed a column of water and vapour ejected from the nostrils. “It isn’t a right whale,” he said; “if so, its spout would be smaller and it would rise higher in the air. And I do not think it is a hump-back. I cannot hear the hump-back’s roar. Dick, tell me, what do you think about it?”

With a critical eye Dick Sands looked long and steadily at the spout.

“It blows out water, sir,” said the apprentice, “water, as well as vapour. I should think it is a finback. But it must be a rare large one.”

“Seventy feet, at least!” rejoined the captain, flushing with his enthusiasm.

“What a big fellow!” said Jack, catching the excitement of his elders.

[Illustration: “What a big fellow!”]

“Ah, Jack, my boy,” chuckled the captain, “the whale little thinks who are watching him enjoy his breakfast!”

“Yes,” said the boatswain; “a dozen such gentlemen as that would freight a craft twice the size of ours; but this one, if only we can get him, will go a good way towards filling our empty barrels.”

“Rather rough work, you know,” said Dick, “to attack a finback!”

“You are right, Dick,” answered the captain; “the boat has yet to be built which is strong enough to resist the flap of a jubarte’s tail.”

“But the profit is worth the risk, captain, isn’t it?”

“You are right again, Dick,” replied Captain Hull, and as he spoke, he clambered on to the bowsprit in order that he might get a better view of the whale.

The crew were as eager as their captain. Mounted on the fore-shrouds, they scanned the movements of their coveted prey in the distance, freely descanting upon the profit to be made out of a good finback and declaring that it would be a thousand pities if this chance of filling the casks below should be permitted to be lost.

Captain Hull was perplexed. He bit his nails and knitted his brow.

“Mamma!” cried little Jack, “I should so much like to see a whale close,—quite close, you know.”

“And so you shall, my boy,” replied the captain, who was standing by, and had come to the resolve that if his men would back him, he would make an attempt to capture the prize.

He turned to his crew,—

“My men! what do you think? shall we make the venture? Remember, we are all alone; we have no whalemen to help us; we must rely upon ourselves; I have thrown a harpoon before now; I can throw a harpoon again; what do you say?”

The crew responded with a ringing cheer,—

“Ay, ay, sir! Ay, ay!” iHNDoaWv+WUZ8+6sPE45X/9Q3+0SvcEBI3HEJ7o0M1KAz/W225BAanEmOA7gqmbg