laughing, "but they are no use to whalers, and so we only catch 'right whales,' d'ye see?"
"Then, is that a spout?" asked the lad, as a thin and steam-like vapour arose from the neighbourhood of the whales.
"Yes, that's a spout," was the reply, as the misty vapour vanished. "It looks different in books, don't it?"
"It does," said Arthur. "I think I'll go down now. The rolling is rather trying. Besides, Reginald is waiting."
"And Tom is expecting you to pay your 'footing,'" said the mate Stevens. "Got to fork out, sir, please."
So Arthur "forked out" as desired, and descended with a light head and a lighter pocket to warn his brother. Reginald, however, ascended boldly, and entered the barrel, which the top-man had vacated.
Reginald looked around him, and could hardly realise the position. The cold and mist he did not mind; the solitude appeared fearful! There he was, swaying about high above the deck, feeling as if he must fall into the sea when the barque rolled, or upon one of the tiny creatures which, foreshortened below him, moved on the deck. It was a giddy perch!
He looked away over the sea, in which the ice masses, in detachments or skirmishing order, were keeping the advance line of the distant, unknown shore. Farther away the ice-clad ocean was rocking undulating in the swell, which was confined by the "pack." The white reflection troubled the lad, the desolation appeared complete; and shutting his ears to exclude the sounds of the slapping ropes, the noise of the sails, the cries of men and birds, Reginald could almost believe that all the prospect was unreal, as in a dream—that he would awake again in his bunk below and recover his senses! Then he took his fingers from his ears. Even then he fancied the whole incident was unreal, even as he turned to speak to the sailor beside him.
