Early one morning the old familiar cry rang from the crow's-nest—"Blo-o-o-w."  
A whale, in plain view from the deck, was sporting lazily on the surface about a mile and a half off our starboard bow. The three boats were hurriedly lowered and the crews in. We took to the , for not a breath of air was stirring and the sea was as smooth as polished silver. Away went the boats together, as if from a starting line at the crack of a pistol, with the whale as the goal and prize of the race.
 
Mr. Winchester had often boasted of the superiority of his crew. Mr. Landers had not seemed interested in the question, but Gabriel resented the assumption. "Just wait," he used to say to us . "We'll show him which is de bes' crew. Our time'll come." The men of the mate's boat had shared their officer's opinion. They had long swaggered among us with a self-complacent assurance that made us smart. Our chance had at last come to prove their pride a mockery under the skipper's eyes. If ever men wanted, from the bottom of their hearts, to win, we did. We not only had our name as skillful oarsmen to , but a to wipe out.
 
So evenly matched were the crews that the boats rushed along side by side for at least half a mile, Mr. Winchester and smiling, Mr. Landers indifferent, Gabriel all eagerness and excitement. Perhaps Mr. Landers knew his crew was outclassed. If he did not, he was not long in finding it out, for his boat began to drop behind and was soon hopelessly out of the contest. But the other two crews, stroke for stroke, were proving foemen of each other's prowess.
 
"Oho, Gabriel," Mr. Winchester laughed contemptuously, "you think your boat can out-pull us, eh? Bet you ten pounds of tobacco we beat you to the whale."
 
"I take you," cried Gabriel excitedly. "Dat's a bet."
 
If Gabriel accepted the challenge, so did we, and right at that. We threw ourselves, heart and soul, into the struggle. The men in the mate's boat, holding us cheaply, believed they could draw away whenever they chose and go on to win, hands down. The mate kept looking over at us, a smile still curling the corners of his mouth.
 
"Come on now, my boys," he cried. "All together. Shake her up a bit. Give those fellows a taste of your ."
 
We heard his words as distinctly as his own crew heard them—he was only a few boat lengths away. They inspired us to greater than they inspired his own men. They . So did we. Still the two boats raced neck and neck. We were not to be shaken off. The mate looked disconcerted. His men had done their level best to take the lead and they had failed. That marked the crisis of the race.
 
The mate's smile faded out. His face grew anxious. Then it hardened into an expression of grim determination. He had sat motionless at the beginning. Now when he saw his vaunted superiority slipping through his fingers he began to "jockey"—throwing his body forward in violent lunges at every stroke of the sweeps, pushing with all his might on the stroke , and booming out, "Pull, my boys; pull away, my boys."
 
But old Gabriel was "jockeying," too, and encouraging us in the same fashion.
 
"We show dat mate," he kept repeating. "We show him. Steady together, my lads. Pull away!"
 
And we pulled as if our lives depended on it, bending to the oars with every ounce of our strength, making the long sweeps bend in the water. We began to forge ahead, very slowly, inch by inch. We saw it—it cheered us to stronger effort. Our rivals saw it—it discouraged them. Under the heart-breaking strain they began to tire. They slipped back little by little. They spurted again. It was no use. We increased our advantage. Open daylight began to broaden between the stern of our boat and the bow of theirs. They were beaten in a fair trial of strength, oarsmanship, and endurance.
 
"Ha, my boys," Gabriel. "We win. Good-by to dat mate. Now we catch dat whale."
 
We shot along at undiminished speed, pulling . What the whale was doing or how close we were to it, we at the oars could not see.
 
"Stand by, Louis," said Gabriel presently.
 
"Aye, aye, sir," responded Louis.
 
A few more strokes and a great black bulk close alongside.
 
"Give it to him, Louis," cried Gabriel.
 
And as the boat glanced against that island of living ebony, Louis's sank deep into the soft, buttery mass. We heard the tiny of the cap of the tonite gun, and a fraction of a second later the bomb exploded with a roar in the whale's vitals.
 
"Stern, stern!" shouted Gabriel. "Stern for your lives!"
 
We backed water as hard as we could. The great back went flashing down, the tail rose up directly over us, shutting out the sky. It curled over away from us and the sea with thunder. As quick as lightning it rose into the air again, curled high above us with menace, and came crashing down, this time tow............