Summary

Portrait of Harry Castlemon Harry Castlemon Frank Nelson in the Forecastle…

At length, after Frank had worked his best for nearly an hour without once pausing for breath, and the line had been drawn through his hands for the third time, the captain's small stock of patience was all exhausted, and he began to relieve his mind by uttering heavy oaths. "Coward!" he yelled, stamping his feet as if he were trying to knock a hole through the bottom of the boat. "If you are afraid to put me alongside that whale, jump overboard and give place to a better man. You're fixing your back for a rope's end as soon as you get aboard the ship!"
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Harry Castlemon Harry Castlemon Frank Nelson in the Forecastle…

Frank saw him pick up a lance that happened to be lying near, and following the direction of his gaze, saw that it was fastened upon a head which was slowly rising above the combings of the fore hatch—a head covered with a mass of shaggy hair. It was one of the natives, who had no doubt been knocked into the hold during the fight, and was now coming up to see if the coast was clear, so that he could make his escape. Not a man moved. Every one held his breath as Lucas raised the long, slender whale-lance in the air and held it poised in both hands.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Harry Castlemon Harry Castlemon Frank Nelson in the Forecastle…

THE high-spirited Frank, smarting under a sense of injustice, and hardly able to bear the pain occasioned by his lacerated hands, suddenly became very reckless. The captain had no excuse for talking to him in that style after what he had done. A coward would not have been likely to take a defeated harpooner's place and plunge an iron into the first whale he had ever seen, and neither would he have worked as hard as Frank did to bring the boat into position; and that he did work, the crimson stains his hands left on the rope abundantly proved.
Source: Gutenberg

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