"Hoch!"

Ah! Who was that coughed just behind the ship?

Who, indeed? look round and see.

There is nobody. There could not be in the sea.

Look—there, a quarter of a mile away.

Oh! What is that turning over in the water, like a great black wheel? And a great tooth on it, and—oh! it is gone!

Never mind. It will soon show itself again.

But what was it?

The whale: one of them, at least; for the men say there are two different ones about the bay. That black wheel was part of his back, as he turned down; and the tooth on it was his back-fin.

But the noise, like a giant's cough?

Rather like the blast of a locomotive just starting. That was his breath.

What? as loud as that?

Why not? He is a very big fellow, and has big lungs.

How big is he?

I cannot say: perhaps thirty or forty feet long. We shall be able to see better soon. He will come up again, and very likely nearer us, where those birds are.

I don't want him to come any nearer.

You really need not be afraid. He is quite harmless.

But he might run against the yacht.

He might: and so might a hundred things happen which never do. But I never heard of one of these whales running against a vessel; so I suppose he has sense enough to know that the yacht is no concern of his, and to keep out of its way.

But why does he make that tremendous noise only once, and then go under water again?

You must remember that he is not a fish. A fish takes the water in through his mouth continually, and it runs over his gills, and out behind through his gill-covers. So the gills suck-up the air out of the water, and send it into the fish's blood, just as they do in the newt-larva.

Yes, I know.

But the whale breathes with lungs like you and me; and when he goes under water he has to hold his breath, as you and I have.

What a long time he can hold it.

Yes. He is a wonderful diver. Some whales, they say, will keep under for an hour. But while he is under, mind, the air in his lungs is getting foul, and full of carbonic acid, just as it would in your lungs, if you held your breath. So he is forced to come up at last: and then out of his blowers, which are on the top of his head, he blasts out all the foul breath, and with it the water which has got into his mouth, in a cloud of spray. Then he sucks in fresh air, as much as he wants, and dives again, as you saw him do just now.

And what does he do under water?

Look—and you will see. Look at those birds. We will sail up to them; for Mr. Whale will probably rise among them soon.

Oh, what a screaming and what a fighting! How many sorts there are! What are those beautiful little ones, like great white swallows, with crested heads and forked tails, who hover, and then dip down and pick up something?

Terns—sea-swallows. And there are gulls in hundreds, you see, large and small, grey-backed and black-backed; and over them all two or three great gannets swooping round and round.

Oh! one has fallen into the sea!

Yes, with a splash just like a cannon ball. And here he comes up again, with a fish in his beak. If he had fallen on your head, with that beak of his, he would have split it open. I have heard of men catching gannets by tying a fish on a board, and letting it float; and when the gannet strikes at it he drives his bill into the board, and cannot get it out.

But is not that cruel?

I think so. Gannets are of no use, for eating, or anything else.

What a noise! It is quite deafening. And what are those black birds about, who croak like crows, or parrots?

Look at them. Some have broad bills, with a white stripe on it, and cry something like the moor-hens at home. Those are razor-bills.

And what are those who say "marrock," something like a parrot?

The ones with thin bills? They are guillemots, "murres" as we call them in Devon: but in some places they call them "marrocks," from what they say.

And each has a little baby bird swimming behind it. Oh! there: the mother has cocked up her tail and dived, and the little one is swimming about looking for her! How it cries! It is afraid of the yacht.

And there she comes up again, and cries "marrock" to call it.

Look at it swimming up to her, and cuddling to her, quite happy.

Quite happy. And do you not think that any one who took a gun and shot either that mother or that child would be both cowardly and cruel?

But they might eat them.

These sea-birds are not good to eat. They taste too strong of fish-oil. They are of no use at all, except that the gulls' and terns' feathers are put into girls' hats.

Well, they might find plenty of other things to put in their hats.

So I think. Yes: it would be very cruel, very cruel indeed, to do what some do, shoot at these poor things, and leave them floating about wounded till they die. But I suppose, if one gave them one's mind about such doings, and threatened to put the new Sea Fowl Act in force against them, and fine them, and show them up in the newspapers, they would say they meant no harm, and had never thought about its being cruel.

Then they ought to think.

They ought; and so ought you. Half the cruelty in the world, like half the misery, comes simply from people's not thinking; and boys are often very cruel from mere thoughtlessness. So when you are tempted to rob birds' nests, or to set the dogs on a moorhen, or pelt wrens in the hedge, think; and say—How should I like that to be done to me?

I know: but what are all the birds doing?

Look at the water, how it sparkles. It is alive with tiny fish, "fry," "brett" as we call them in the West, which the mackerel are driving up to the top.

Poor little things! How hard on them! The big fish at them from below, and the birds at them from above. And what is that? Thousands of fish leaping out of the water, scrambling over each other's backs. What a curious soft rushing roaring noise they make!

Aha! The eaters are going to be eaten in turn. Those are the mackerel themselves; and I suspect they see Mr. Whale, and are scrambling out of the way as fast as they can, lest he should swallow them down, a dozen at a time. Look out sharp for him now.

I hope he will not come very near.

No. The fish are going from us and past us. If he comes up, he will come up astern of us, so look back. There he is!

That? I thought it was a boat.

Yes. He does look very like a boat upside down. But that is only his head and shoulders. He will blow next.

"Hoch!"

Oh! What a jet of spray, like the Geysers! And the sun made a rainbow on the top of it. He is quite still now.

Yes; he is taking a long breath or two. You need not hold my hand so tight. His head is from us; and when he goes down he will go right away.

Oh, he is turning head over heels! There is his back fin again. And——Ah! was not that a slap! How the water boiled and foamed; and what a tail he had! And how the mackerel flew out of the water!

Yes. You are a lucky boy to have seen that. I have not seen one of those gentlemen show his "flukes," as they call them, since I was a boy on the Cornish coast.

Where is he gone?

Hunting mackerel, away out at sea. But did you notice something odd about his tail, as you call it—though it is really none?

It looked as if it was set on flat, and not upright, like a fish's. But why is it not a tail?

Just because it is set on flat, not upright: and learned men will tell you that those two flukes are the "rudiments"—that is, either the beginning, or more likely the last remains—of two hind feet. But that belongs to the second volume of Madam How's Book of Kind; and you have not yet learned any of the first volume, you know, except about a few butterflies. Look here! Here are more whales coming. Don't be frightened. They are only little ones, mackerel-hunting, like the big one.

What pretty smooth things, turning head over heels, and saying, "Hush, Hush!"

They don't really turn clean over; and that "Hush" is their way of breathing.

Are they the young ones of that great monster?

No; they are porpoises. That big one is, I believe, a bottle-nose. But if you want to know about the kinds of whales, you must ask Dr. Flower at the Royal College of Surgeons, and not me: and he will tell you wonderful things about them.—How some of them have mouths full of strong teeth, like these porpoises; and others, like the great sperm whale in the South Sea, have huge teeth in their lower jaws, and in the upper only holes into which those teeth fit; others like the bottle-nose, only two teeth or so in the lower jaw; and others, like the narwhal, two straight tusks in the upper jaw, only one of which grows, and is what you call a narwhal's horn.

Oh yes. I know of a walking-stick made of one.

And strangest of all, how the right whales have a few little teeth when they are born, which never come through the gums; but, instead, they grow all along their gums, an enormous curtain of clotted hair, which serves as a net to keep in the tiny sea-animals on which they feed, and let the water strain out.

You mean whalebone? Is whalebone hair?

So it seems. And so is a rhinoceros's horn. A rhinoceros used to be hairy all over in old times: but now he carries all his hair on the end of his nose, except a few bristles on his tail. And the right whale, not to be done in oddity, carries all his on his gums.

But have no whales any hair?

No real whales: but the manati, which is very nearly a whale, has long bristly hair left. Don't you remember M.'s letter about the one he saw at Rio Janeiro?

This is all very funny: but what is the use of knowing so much about things' teeth and hair?

What is the use of learning Latin and Greek, and a dozen things more which you have to learn? You don't know yet: but wiser people than you tell you that they will be of use some day. And I can tell you, that if you would only study that gar-fish long enough, and compare him with another fish something like him, who has a long beak to his lower jaw, and none to his upper—and how he eats, I cannot guess,—and both of them again with certain fishes like them, which M. Agassiz has found lately, not in the sea, but in the river Amazon; and then think carefully enough over their bones and teeth, and their history from the time they are hatched—why, you would find out, I believe, a story about the river Amazon itself, more wonderful than all the fairy tales you ever read.

Now there is luncheon ready. Come down below, and don't tumble down the companion-stairs; and by the time you have eaten your dinner we shall be very near the shore.