a monster silver-stripe heaved up on our lee. 'Twas a finback whale,
M. Radisson explained; and he protested against the impudence of
scratching its back on our keel. As we sailed farther north many a
school of rolling finbacks glistened silver in the sun or rose higher
than our masthead, when one took the death-leap to escape its leagued
foes--swordfish and thrasher and shark. And to give you an idea of the
fearful tide breaking through the narrow fiords of that rock-bound
coast, I may tell you that La Chesnaye and I have often seen those
leviathans of the deep swept tail foremost by the driving tide into
some land-locked lagoon and there beached high on naked rock. That was
the sea M. Radisson was navigating with cockle-shell boats unstable of
pace as a vagrant with rickets.

Even Forêt, the marquis, forgot his dainty-fingered dignity and took a
hand at the fishing of a shark one day. The cook had put out a bait at
the end of a chain fastened to the capstan, when comes a mighty tug;
and the cook shouts out that he has caught a shark. All hands are
hailed to the capstan, and every one of my fine gentlemen grasps an
ironwood bar to hoist the monster home. I wish you had seen their
faces when the shark's great head with six rows of teeth in its gaping
upper jaw came abreast the deck! Half the fellows were for throwing
down the bars and running, but the other half would not show white
feather before the common sailors; and two or three clanking rounds
brought the great shark lashing to deck in a way that sent us scuttling
up the ratlines. But Forêt would not be beaten. He thrust an ironwood
bar across the gaping jaws. The shark tore the wood to splinters.
There was a rip that snapped the cable with the report of a pistol, and
the great fish was over deck and away in the sea.

By this, you may know, we had all left our landsmen's fears far south