Give way, boys; we _must_ have that fish." There was no need to urge the men, for their backs were strained to the utmost, their faces were flushed, and the big veins in their necks swelled almost to bursting, with the tremendous exertion.
"Hold hard," said the captain in a low voice, for now that we were getting near our prey we made as little noise as possible.
The men at once threw their oars "apeak", as they say; that is, raised them straight, up in the air, and waited for further orders.

We expected the whale would rise near to where we were, and thought it best to rest and look out.
While we were waiting, Tom Lokins, who was harpooner of the boat, sat just behind me with all his irons ready.

He took this opportunity to explain to me that by a "hundred-barrel fish" is meant a fish that will yield a hundred barrels of oil.

He further informed me that such a fish was a big one, though he had seen a few in the North-West Seas that had produced upwards of two hundred barrels.
I now observed that the other boats had separated, and each had gone after a different whale.

In a few minutes the fish we were in chase of rose a short distance off, and sent up two splendid water-spouts high into the air, thus showing that he was what the whalers call a "right" whale.