Chapter 20

IN A FOG HE IS SET TO WORK AS A BELL-TOLLER, AND BEHOLDS A HERD OF
OCEAN-ELEPHANTS

What is this that we sail through? What palpable obscure? What smoke and
reek, as if the whole steaming world were revolving on its axis, as a
spit?

It is a Newfoundland Fog; and we are yet crossing the Grand Banks, wrapt
in a mist, that no London in the Novem-berest November ever equaled. The
chronometer pronounced it noon; but do you call this midnight or midday?
So dense is the fog, that though we have a fair wind, we shorten sail
for fear of accidents; and not only that, but here am I, poor
Wellingborough, mounted aloft on a sort of belfry, the top of the
"Sampson-Post," a lofty tower of timber, so called; and tolling the
ship's bell, as if for a funeral.

This is intended to proclaim our approach, and warn all strangers from
our track.

Dreary sound! toll, toll, toll, through the dismal mist and fog.

The bell is green with verdigris, and damp with dew; and the little cord
attached to the clapper, by which I toll it, now and then slides through
my fingers, slippery with wet. Here I am, in my slouched black hat, like
the "bull that could pull," announcing the decease of the lamented
Cock-Robin.

A better device than the bell, however, was once pitched upon by an
ingenious sea-captain, of whom I have heard. He had a litter of young
porkers on board; and while sailing through the fog, he stationed men at
both ends of the pen with long poles, wherewith they incessantly stirred
up and irritated the porkers, who split the air with their squeals; and
no doubt saved the ship, as the geese saved the Capitol.

The most strange and unheard-of noises came out of the fog at times: a
vast sound of sighing and sobbing. What could it be? This would be
followed by a spout, and a gush, and a cascading commotion, as if some
fountain had suddenly jetted out of the ocean.

Seated on my Sampson-Post, I stared more and more, and suspended my duty
as a sexton. But presently some one cried out--"There she blows! whales!
whales close alongside!"

A whale! Think of it! whales close to me, Wellingborough;--would my own
brother believe it? I dropt the clapper as if it were red-hot, and
rushed to the side; and there, dimly floating, lay four or five long,
black snaky-looking shapes, only a few inches out of the water.

Can these be whales? Monstrous whales, such as I had heard of? I thought
they would look like mountains on the sea; hills and valleys of flesh!
regular krakens, that made it high tide, and inundated continents, when
they descended to feed!

It was a bitter disappointment, from which I was long in recovering. I
lost all respect for whales; and