The "leadsman" called out the depth as he read it off the line.

"Leadsman - to the chains and give me a cast at once!"

Seconds later came the soft call of the leadsman.

The leadsman began to call off the depths as the water shoaled.

A leadsman was sent to the bow to throw out a lead weight and sound the bottom.

'And a half five,' came the cry from the starboard leadsman.

Suddenly the chant altered and the leadsman's voice took on a sharper tone.

The leadsman called the three fathom mark over an unsettling quaver of sound.

The leadsman and his mates could let more run, but initially more than 300 feet went in a matter of seconds.

Ordinarily, soundings were occasional and one leadsman would suffice to take them.

At that moment the leadsman reported nine fathoms.

The leadsman was working fast; coiling up that much line between casts was hard work.

The Frenchman, too, was relying on his leadsman.

'The leadsman says there is a proper depth: hear him.'

During the entire nerve-wracking trip, each leadsman sang out: "No bottom."

A quarter less six,' called a leadsman.

There was relief in the leadsman's tone.

The captain called for a leadsman to sound the depth, that the ship could be run to the limit of her draft on each tack.

He made it to the leadsman's platform, dragged himself upright, gripped his harpoon, threw.

"Five fathoms," the leadsman called out, "and rising fast."

Leads were swung, or cast, by a leadsman, usually standing in the chains of a ship, up against the shrouds.

The chains provided a platform for a 'leadsman', the sailor assigned to swing the sounding line, or 'lead' into the water.

"The leadsman's next cry was sharper still.

There was the leadsman again.

Did you hear the leadsman?"