Making haste up the crags by a
short cut, I joined him on the verge of the promontory pretty well
heated and out of breath. The effort was richly rewarded. The mist was
dispersing in the sunny air around us; the ocean was clearing off; the
surge was breaking with a pleasant sound below. At the foot of the
precipice were four or five whales, from thirty to fifty feet in
length, apparently. We could have tossed a pebble upon them. At times
abreast, and then in single file, or disorderly, round and round they
went, now rising with a puff followed by a wisp of vapor, then
plunging into the deep again. There was something in their large
movements very imposing, and yet very graceless. There seemed to be no
muscular effort, no exertion of any force from within, and no more
flexibility in their motions than if they had been built of timber.
They appeared to move very much as a wooden whale might be supposed to
move down a mighty rapid, roiling and plunging and borne along
irresistibly by the current. As they rose, we could see their mouths
occasionally, and the lighter colors of the skin below. As they went
under, their huge, black tails, great winged things not unlike the
screw-wheel of a propeller, tipped up above the waves. Now and then
one would give the water a good round slap, the noise of which smote
sharply upon the ear, like the crack of a pistol in an alley. It was a
novel sight to watch them in their play, or labor, rather; for they
were feeding upon the caplin, pretty little fishes that swarm along
these shores at this particular season.
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