CHAPTER III.
OUR FIRST BATTLE I shall never forget the surprise I got the first time I saw a whale.
It was in the forenoon of a most splendid day, about a week after we arrived at that part of the ocean where we might expect to find fish.
A light nor'-east breeze was blowing, but it scarcely ruffled the sea, as we crept slowly through the water with every stitch of canvas set.
As we had been looking out for fish for some time past, everything was in readiness for them.

The boats were hanging over the side ready to lower, tubs for coiling away the ropes, harpoons, lances, &c., all were ready to throw in, and start away at a moment's notice.

The man in the "crow's-nest", as they call the cask fixed up at the masthead, was looking anxiously out for whales, and the crew were idling about the deck.

Tom Lokins was seated on the windlass smoking his pipe, and I was sitting beside him on an empty cask, sharpening a blubber-knife.
"Tom," said I, "what like is a whale ?" "Why, it's like nothin' but itself," replied Tom, looking puzzled.
"Why, wot a queer feller you are to ax questions." "I'm sure you've seen plenty of them.

You might be able to tell what a whale is like." "Wot it's like! Well, it's like a tremendous big bolster with a head and a tail to it." "And how big is it ?" "They're of all sizes, lad.