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 CHAPTER XXX
At Batavia I stayed on board of the Virginia as long as I could. I had not
a cent of money in my pockets, and I did not like to ask help of any
kind, even of the American consul. The Virginia had some freight to be
unloaded, and I watched the men breaking out that part of the cargo
while Captain Marshall went ashore. The captain apparently did not
see me that morning, which I suppose was his way of being indulgent.
There was a good deal of freight to be taken off, and when it was out of
the way there was as much more to be taken in and stowed: great
quantities of sugar and coffee and spices for England, and some things
for Hongkong and Canton, I could not tell what. I wondered idly why
they took aboard the cargo for England on the way east, but I never
found out. The officers of the Virginia were not the kind of men one
asked idle questions.
The cargo was not all stowed before noon of the next day, and there
was no sign of the Clearchus. I was getting very uneasy, and had
actually made a move to speak to the captain, when he turned to me.
“Here ’s your ship,” he said.
I looked down the bay, and saw her upper masts and dirty, slovenly
looking sails, appearing indistinctly above the islands. It was a great
contrast to the white canvas and shining spars of the Virginia, and I felt
a strange mixture of relief and dis­ap­point­ment.
We had to wait for the Clearchus, for the wind was light, and I
thought that she never would get in. Captain Marshall did not wait for
her to put her anchor over, but was pulled out and met her, leaving the
Virginia with her anchor hove short, her sails loosed and hanging in
the clewlines, and the crew standing by to make sail. He went over the
side of the Clearchus much more easily and gracefully than I did, and
immediately went below with Captain Nelson. To my astonishment, I
was hailed as one raised from the dead. It seems that nobody had seen
me at the moment of my departure, and I had not been missed until
some hours after the collision. Then the man who had been at the
wheel recalled my yells, and they concluded that I had been knocked
overboard. Of course it was then too late to look for me, as nobody
could swim for four or five hours at the rate the Clearchus was going,
small as that rate was. I laughed when I heard this explanation, but I
made no comment. If they did not know, or had forgotten, that I could
not swim at all, I would not bring up a painful subject. Peter and the
Prince said nothing, but I was afraid that Peter’s smile would crack his
leather cheeks.
I was relieved from this embarrassing situation by the return to the
deck of Captain Marshall, accompanied by Captain Nelson. Both
captains looked pleased, especially Captain Nelson. They stopped for a
moment to glance at the damage done, which was trifling, except for
the loss of the boat. As this thought crossed my mind I looked up at
the roof of the after house. There was no boat missing. They must have
picked it up. I asked Peter, and he nodded, saying that it was unhurt.
At that moment Peter and the Prince were called to their duty, and our
anchor was let go. I sidled aft, to be within plain sight of Captain
Marshall when he left. That was all I could do. He took no notice of
me, but disappeared over the side. I was disappointed, and felt a
sinking of the heart; but I had no reason to expect anything better. To
him I was but one of the crew of the Clearchus, and a whaleman. Smart
masters of smart ships have a profound contempt for whalemen as a
class, because of their general slackness, I suppose, although those of
them who really know feel an equally profound respect for their
venturesome spirit. Captain Marshall was the master of the smartest
ship I have ever come across, and the condition of his vessel reflected
the character of the master, as it always does. The impression I got of
Captain Marshall, and the one I always retained, was that of a kind
man—if you once got under his stiff crust of reserve and custom. I
think that, at heart, he was sentimental, and was afraid that the crust
might break and show his real nature. So he never forgot, but took
every opportunity to harden and stiffen the crust; and he lavished a
wealth of sentiment on his ship in secret.
I found Captain Coffin standing just forward of the house, nursing
his bandaged ankle and gazing at the Virginia. I took my stand beside
him, and we watched while the Virginia got her anchor up smartly, and
got under way smartly, without the smallest mistake or mishap. Her
canvas fell into place swiftly and with the precision of a machine, and
she was soon well on her way to sea under a veritable cloud of snowy
canvas, and going like a race-horse. There was no sound from Captain
Coffin until the Virginia was almost out of sight. Then he heaved a long
sigh, and turned to me, almost with tears in his eyes.
“Well, Tim,” he said, with a smile, “she ’s a great vessel—a great ship,
and as sweet a sailer as I ever saw.”
I grinned in return, from ear to ear. “That ’s what Captain Marshall
says, sir, and he ’s just right. I spent one whole day just watching her
sail.”
“I ’d give a leg,” he said, “to command a vessel like that. But there ’s
the Annie Battles sailing these seas somewhere. She ’s almost as good,
and she ’s mine. Help me below, Tim.”
So I lent him my shoulder until he was deposited on the cabin sofa.
A glance showed me the same blue-white pitcher on the cabin table,
with three empty glasses, and three empty chairs. The pitcher was
empty too, and cold, but it had been neither empty nor cold. I knew.
At Batavia we left poor Mr. Snow in hospital, under the charge of
the American consul. Although we were sorry for him, there was no
one in the ship who was not glad to have him out of it. Soon after we
left, a homeward-bound whaler called whose master was willing to take
him. He was already better, and recovered pretty well before they
reached New Bedford, but he never went to sea again. I remember that
I saw him, more than ten years later. I said a few words to him, but
found that he did not know me, and I had no wish to recall myself to
him. He was night watchman for one or two of the banks then on
Water Street, and was a little “queer,” but not queer enough to prevent
his being a good enough night watchman.
We were in Batavia about a week, although I could see no reason for
our staying more than a couple of days. The two men that we had
picked up at Amsterdam Island with Captain Coffin left us there, and
none were shipped in their places, as the old man did not like the looks
of any of the candidates. This rejoiced me in particular, for I was
practically put back in my boat. It was no cause of rejoicing to the
sailmaker, however, for it put him back in his boat too; but Captain
Nelson, I believe, expected to pick up a man or two later on. We sailed
at last, expecting to look around the Java Sea a bit, and if there were no
whales there, which Captain Nelson hardly expected, we would stand
up the China Sea, past the Philippines, to the Japan grounds. The
captain hoped to do well on the Japan grounds.
 In Java Sea we did better than was expected. We saw several small
schools, got fast four times, and saved two whales, one of them a big
bull. This bull was the cause of an adventure which might have resulted
seriously for me. We had got fast to him, and he had run for a while.
Then he sounded. He had taken out quite a little line, when the strain
on the line eased, although the line did not slack entirely. That was an
indication that he had doubled on his course under water, and Mr.
Brown kept a sharp lookout for him over the bow, for he might be
coming to attack the boat. I could not help giving an occasional glance
over the side. I confess that I was nervous. Mr. Brown did not see me,
having his back toward me, but the Prince did, and held up his hand in
warning, although he said nothing. That was not enough to stop me,
and I glanced over again. One glance was enough. There was the whale
coming up like a rocket, belly up and jaws open. I dropped my oar, and
reached past Kane for the boat spade. As I reached, Mr. Brown gave a
yell to stern all. Of course I could not, having no hold on my oar, but it
was too late, anyway.
At that instant the lower jaw shot into the air past my head. I had
never thought the teeth of a sperm whale looked very dangerous until I
saw those teeth, looking like a row of gravestones, flashing by my eyes
to twice my height. I did not stop to philosophize on the matter of
whales’ teeth, however, but I jammed the boat spade down instantly,
with all my strength and all my weight behind it. By pure good luck I
hit the jaw muscles on one side, and cut them nearly through. Probably
I saved the life of the tub-oarsman, who would have been caught
between the jaws; or quite possibly I saved my own life, for I might
have been the one to be caught by those jaws. It seemed, at the time, to
be an opening for two young men.
 The jaws closed partially, but there was no strength in the bite, and,
although the planks on one side were stove in, between me and the tub
oar, the boat was not bitten in two, which would have happened if the
whale had had the full use of his jaw muscles. He made no further
attack, but sank again into the sea, leaving us with the water pouring in
through the broken planks. In a few minutes we were completely
waterlogged, and the men sat in their places with the water up to their
waists, and the seas breaking into the boat. Mr. Tilton pulled up and
took our line, and killed the whale. All the fight seemed to have been
taken out of him. He cut in over eighty-five barrels.
By the time we had that whale and our other one—a thirty-barrel
cow, which made no fight—we were about off Macassar, and we held
northward through the Strait of Macassar instead of going back and
through the China Sea. We had head winds until we had got to the east
of the Philippines, but we were in no hurry, and the head winds did not
bother us. It was here that we saw a strange and interesting sight.
We had raised a small school of whales and had lowered four boats.
The whales proved to be cows, most of them with calves accompanying
them closely. I knew too little about whales then—I know no more
now—to be able to tell the age of a whale calf by its appearance; these
calves were not newly born, but yet they were so young that they had to
come up to blow every three or four minutes. Mr. Baker struck a calf,
probably thinking by that manœuvre he would find the capture of the
mother easier.
I know that I was rather shocked at his doing so at the time. There
was nothing sporting about it. It was like murdering a baby. But there
was nothing sporting about whaling—none of the sporting spirit, and
my feeling was only momentary. It did seem short-sighted, at the least,
to destroy an animal that could be of no possible use to us, and one
which might grow up to be of considerable value to somebody. There
should be some sort of international agreement not to kill calves or any
cow under forty barrels or so. It would be in the interest of the whale
fishery as an industry, and would very likely result, eventually, in
making it easier to fill up a ship; like the restrictions on the seal fishery,
or good game laws on land. Nobody supposes that the game laws exist
from sympathy with the game; but where there is a good buck law, deer
are abundant enough.
To come back to Mr. Baker; he knew whales very well, and ought to
have known what would happen. The whole school of a dozen or
fifteen cows brought to at once, and gathered around the wounded calf
and Mr. Baker’s boat. They crowded so closely about the boat that Mr.
Baker did not dare to use his lance, and had all he could do to keep his
boat from being stove by the loose cows. The three other boats were at
some distance when he struck. We pulled up as fast as we could, but
could do nothing to help him. On the way over I heard Mr. Macy call to
Mr. Tilton to look. I could see nothing, of course, having my back to
whatever it was that he was calling attention to, but on our arrival on
the outskirts of the school I saw what it was.
There were a great many more than fifteen whales there, and more
were arriving every minute. In self-defense, Mr. Baker had lanced two
of the nearest, and he could have reached two or three more from the
boat. The whales seemed to have lost their wits, but were none the less
dangerous on that account, they were so tightly packed. The small
school which we had attacked had been, apparently, but an offshoot of
a much larger school, all cows and calves. Their spouts covered the sea
for some distance. No doubt they seemed more numerous than they
were; but we found our boat gradually getting enclosed, and we backed
out, after lancing two without putting an iron into either. So did Mr.
Tilton and Mr. Macy, leaving Mr. Baker closely surrounded by crazy
whales; probably only gallied and not knowing what to do. There was
nothing for Mr. Baker to do but to do nothing, and he did it. His men
took in their oars, and there they sat waiting for something to turn up,
their boat not so very unlike one of the bodies that surrounded it.
Presently Mr. Baker’s patience was rewarded. The poor little calf
which he had struck turned on its side, fin out, and the whales
scattered very soon, the whole school gradually resuming its orderly
progress.
Just before we backed out of the mess, the whales of the main
school had come so close to our boat that I had only to look over the
side to see the small calves swimming close alongside their mothers,
almost concealed from view. One of the calves I saw must have been
born a very little time before, for its flukes were scarcely unfolded. I
have no means of knowing how long it takes for that process, but the
calf could not have been more than a few days old. The mother seemed
very anxious and solicitous for its safety. I saw her turn partly on her
side, and put her side fin over it, holding it close against her, as you
would take a small child under your arm. She had it so when we backed
away, and lost sight of the pair.
The school left us in such semblance of order that we could not
have struck again without risking a repetition of Mr. Baker’s
experience; and we had about as many whales as we could take care of
at one time. Each boat had got one or two. They were all small, none
over thirty barrels, and some much smaller.
 When the trying-out was over we made for the Japan grounds as
straight as we could with the northeast trades directly ahead. Peter was
still engaged in repairing the boat stove in the Java Sea. It was stove
rather badly, every plank on the port side from the gunwale nearly to
the garboard strake having to be replaced, and two broken ribs.
Although Peter’s workmanship left a repaired boat almost as good as
new—it would be better in some cases, but our boats had been made
by Beetle, and were good boats—in spite of Peter’s workmanship, we
had a good many cripples. If the rate of damage to boats increased, it
seemed to me that we might find ourselves short. One fighting whale
will sometimes reduce two or three boats to matchwood, quite beyond
Peter’s skill. We were going where there was no source of supply, for
what whale boats were scattered among the islands of the Pacific were
mostly old boats, patched and painted over to hide the patches; boats
that the whalemen, who traded them to the natives, had no further use
for. Still, I do not remember that I worried about it at the time. It is
only since I got home—since I became middle-aged and timid, I
suppose whalemen would say—that it has seemed to me short-sighted.
We stood in fairly close to Formosa, and in that neighborhood we
got one whale, a lone bull, which made no fight to speak of, although it
was not like slaughtering a steer at Green’s or Pike’s. A pot of hot oil
from him may have saved us; or, at any rate, it may have saved us a
nasty fight. While we were trying-out, a small junk appeared from the
direction of Formosa or the Chinese coast beyond. Nobody gave it a
thought until it was close aboard, when it suddenly occurred to
Captain Nelson, who happened to be on deck, that its actions were
suspicious. I saw nothing suspicious about it except that it was almost
near enough to throw a biscuit aboard—if anybody had wanted to
waste a biscuit. The old junk was going along after the manner of
junks, with six or seven men loafing on deck. We were hove to, and a
great volume of black smoke was pouring from our try-works. As far as
working the ship was concerned, we were helpless. If they wanted to
board us, they could do it a dozen times over before we could get the
Clearchus going.
Captain Nelson watched the junk for a minute, then he spoke to
Mr. Baker, who went at once among the men. The men left their work,
and armed themselves with lances, harpoons, spades, and boarding-
knives, but did not range themselves along the rail, for the captain was
not sure, and he did not want to make himself a laughing-stock among
other captains. I was watching the men, feeling little pricklings all over
and my hair rising. Captain Nelson turned to me.
“What ’you grinning about, Tim?” I had not been aware that I was
grinning, but I was, from ear to ear. “Get the guns and revolvers from
the cabin.”
“All of them, sir?” I asked, my voice shaking with excitement.
“All you can carry.”
I jumped for the cabin stairs, and clanked up again, making a noise
like an arsenal. The captain could not help laughing to see me. I had
the Spencers, of course, three of the heavy bomb guns, two revolvers,
and some ammunition. I distributed my arsenal among the officers.
“Here she comes,” said Mr. Baker—with satisfaction, I thought.
The junk had gone by us, until she was almost directly to windward,
had turned, and was coming down before the wind, her men, who had
been hidden below, swarming out upon deck. They were armed mostly
with long knives.
 I looked at our own men. They were taking their places at the rail
according to their nature; some slowly, some quickly. I saw Peter go
with business-like rapidity, and take his place by the fore rigging. He
had a boarding-knife. The Prince, with a harpoon in his hand, and two
more leaning against the rail at his side, leaped upon the rail beside
Peter. I ran to Peter’s other side, seizing a boarding-knife as I ran, and
there we were, the three of us together, the Prince, Peter, and I. Peter
took it all quietly, as if it were a regular part of his duty to meet a junk-
load of Chinese pirates; I was a little afraid, I think, but at the same
time I was pleased, and I was wildly excited; and the Prince stood on
the rail, looking down with the utmost contempt upon the Chinese. He
was stripped to the waist—most of our men were half-stripped—and
looked like an ebony statue, the gold hoops in his ears shining out
against his shining black skin.
The junk was very near now, and one of their men crawled up with
a great bronze hook on the end of a cable. He was going to try to hook
fast to us, but he never did make the trial. He had to rise, for a
moment, and expose himself. That moment was enough for the Prince,
who was directly opposite him, and only a few feet away. The Prince
raised his harpoon, and darted quickly. The sharp weapon struck the
man full in the chest, went clean through him as if his body had been
made of paper, and the barbs stuck a good three inches behind his
back.
The Prince smiled at that. “Ha!” he cried. “You want come aboard?
Come on, then.”
He jerked the body over the rail of the junk, and it fell with a thud
against our side. Then, still standing erect, he hauled it over our rail,
and dumped it on the deck at my very feet. It turned me sick and faint
for an instant.
I was roused out of my faintness by a shout from Kane, who had
been standing not far from me. He threw down his spade, ran to the
try-works, seized one of the long-handled copper dippers, and dipped
it into one of the kettles of oil. The oil was unusually hot, and the drops
that fell from the dipper, as he ran back with it, smoked fiercely, and
threatened to start fires.
“Look out, boys!” he shouted, swinging his dipper of hot oil. “I ’ll
give them a drink.”
We drew away from the swing of the dipper. With a last swing at
the full length of the long handle he let them have it.
“Have a doughnut,” he roared, “you dhirty chinks!”
He had thrown with all his strength, and with considerable skill, so
that the contents of the dipper were dashed upon a good many of the
men, and scattered into drops. The drops fell upon the bare bodies like
a rain of fire, and every drop sizzled where it struck, literally frying the
Chinese in spots. There was a yell from our men at Kane’s success, and
frenzied yells of pain came from the junk. Kane had turned at once,
and ran back to fill his dipper again. Many men followed him, to grab
whatever they could lay hands upon which would hold oil.
I was among the first to turn and run, thrusting my boarding-knife
into Peter’s hands, and bidding him hold it. The decks, of course, were
almost swimming in oil and greasy dirt, as we had been in the middle
of trying-out. As I ran I heard a shout from Peter to duck. At the same
instant I fell flat upon my face on the deck, and a long knife whistled
over my head, striking against the bricks of the try-works. It was a piece
of good luck, with no effort of mine contributing. I had merely stepped
in a puddle of oil, and my foot had slipped.
By the time I had got to my feet again, there was nothing left to dip
the oil with, and I went back to my post beside Peter. Kane had thrown
a second dipperful of oil, with as great success as the first, and there
was now a continuous shower of hot oil crossing the widening gulf
between the vessels. The junk had given up the attempt to board us,
and was only anxious to get away, her men pushing with long poles,
while exposing their bodies as little as possible. The junk slowly
dropped astern, helped by much pushing and some drifting. As she
had come down upon us from the windward, she could not get off
directly; but the Clearchus was forging ahead a little.
Hot oil was showered upon the junk while she was within range of
the men, but the officers, their guns held ready, withheld their fire, and
at last she cleared us. As she cleared our stern, and her sails filled and
she stood to leeward, her men were still shouting in agony, some of the
worst burned clawing at their bodies. Presently a man jumped
overboard. He sank from sight, and I did not see him come up again.
Then another jumped, and another; and then two together. All four
came up again, but the junk made no attempt to pick them up, and the
men made no attempt to swim, so far as I could see. They just lay there,
bobbing on the surface or under it, now in plain sight, now out of sight,
until they disappeared.
We had made no move to pick them up, which worried me
somewhat, and finally I spoke to Mr. Baker, who passed near. Two of
the Chinese were still afloat.
“Are n’t we going to pick up those men, Mr. Baker?”
 “What men?” he asked. “Any of our men overboard? Don’t seem so.
If any of those yellow pirates are overboard, the junk can pick ’em up if
she wants to. What we do is the Cap’n’s business, not yours or mine,
Tim.”
I looked at Captain Nelson. He was standing under the after house,
gazing forward absently, as if nothing had happened. He did not see
any men overboard, nor did Mr. Baker, nor any other of the officers. At
that moment Captain Nelson called me, and I went to him.
“Take the guns below,” he said.
When I came up there was nothing to be seen except a junk, a
quarter of a mile to leeward, going before the wind.
 CHAPTER XXXI
We reached the Japan grounds in May of 1874, and cruised thereabouts
until August. Then we stood to the southward, loafing past the Volcano
Islands, the Ladrones, Carolines, Solomon and Fiji Islands, always on
the lookout for whales, and taking a number of them. We were on the
New Zealand grounds early in November. We had only average success
on the Japan grounds and our cruise to the southward; pulled in many
a fruitless chase, and most of the whales we did get made no fight
worth mentioning, for which the men were thankful. Two of the
whales, however, did seem to think their lives worth fighting for, and
one of the two fights was successful from the whale’s point of view.
The first of these fights occurred about the middle of the northern
summer. We were off the coast of Japan a hundred miles or so, and it
was blowing hard from the southwest, when we raised this lone spout
to windward. I was standing by the weather fore rigging, having
escaped work in the cabin—the officers were rather lenient as to my
duties in the cabin in view of my work in the boat, but I tried not to be
conspicuous when I was loafing—I stood by the fore rigging, with arms
folded upon the rail. So far as I can recollect, I was thinking of nothing
at all, but letting the wind blow on my face, and enjoying myself.
Suddenly there came a spout about a mile off, and just before my eyes,
a perfect plume. I had not seen the whale rise, and even after the spout
I saw nothing of his body. The cry came down from the masthead
immediately, and I moved, expecting that my boat might be called
upon.
 The call did not come, however. We were to leeward of the whale,
and the ship was manœuvred for half an hour, trying to get to
windward of him, and waiting for him to sound. We did not succeed in
getting a windward berth, for he was moving slowly to windward, and
kept his advantage. He did go down when he got good and ready, his
flukes going into the air until he seemed to be standing on his head,
half submerged, and he disappeared, apparently going straight down.
Mr. Brown and Mr. Tilton then lowered, but they did not hurry
about it, for the whale had gone down less than a mile from the ship,
and it was likely that he would stay down for an hour. We pulled to the
spot we had chosen as the most likely, and waited, occasionally pulling
a few strokes to hold our position. Mr. Tilton was a quarter of a mile
away. While we waited, the ship worked up past us, and got about a
quarter of a mile directly to windward of us. Mr. Tilton guessed nearer
than Mr. Brown. The whale rose beyond Mr. Tilton’s boat, coming up
on a half-breach. We heard the tremendous splash of it, and saw Mr.
Tilton’s men begin to pull; then we began to pull, and I saw no more of
what was going on except the oars and the backs of the men directly
before my eyes, and Mr. Brown’s unexpressive face, as he stood at the
steering oar.
We chased that whale for nearly two hours before Azevedo had a
chance to strike. Then I saw Mr. Brown’s face light up.
“White water!” he said. “He ’s fast.”
I, for one, was glad. It is no play to pull a whaleboat into the teeth of
such a sea and wind as there was then.
“She spouts thin blood,” he added, a moment later. “Sounded.”
We took it easy after that, and soon came up with Mr. Tilton. The
whale had sounded out all his line before we got there, and the ship
was hull down to leeward, but coming as fast as she could.
There was nothing to do but to wait. The whale must have gone
down at a terrific rate, and he had gone straight down, for he came up
in fifteen or twenty minutes, and a short distance ahead of us. We
pulled frantically. Just as I saw the huge body beginning to show at the
corner of my eye, half awash, the Prince darted with all his strength,
both irons, with great rapidity. At the same moment Mr. Brown hove
mightily upon the steering oar, to lay the boat around, crying out to the
Prince to take the lance to him. The boat responded, and for a brief
interval we ran with the whale, the starboard oars against the gunwale,
and I trying my best to get in the slack of the line before we began to
fall astern, while Kane held my oar for me. The Prince had seized a
lance almost before Mr. Brown had got the words out of his mouth, and
had plunged it twice into the whale. Mr. Brown had given another twist
to the steering oar, and we sheered off just as the flukes struck the
water with a noise like a big gun and the effect of a cataract. I had let go
the line and grabbed my oar again, and we just did get out of the way as
the whale sounded, with a side cut of flukes.
He did not go deep enough to take out all our line, although he
came near it; but we held him there, with the bow of the boat pulled
down within a foot of the water, the stern raised a little, and every
other sea breaking into the boat, which kept Kane and me bailing. Mr.
Tilton came up, and he and Mr. Brown thought the whale done for;
virtually dead. The whale did not rise, and at last Mr. Tilton pulled for
the ship, which was coming up pretty fast, to get a new line.
Still we waited. The whale did not move. Mr. Tilton had boarded
the ship, got his line, and shoved off again. We began to wonder if it
was a dead whale that we had at the end of that line, and we all relaxed.
The whale had been down an hour, and Mr. Tilton was not halfway to
us, when the bow was suddenly released, and the stern fell back gently,
with a little splash. The strain on the line had eased, and he was
coming up. How fast he was coming, and where he would rise were
questions of some interest, but no more than that. He was a dead
whale, or as good as dead.
I was aroused to something more than interest by the rasp of the
whale’s teeth against the boat, and his jaw shot into the air, it seemed
to me for fifty feet. As it passed me, I saw the tip of the jaw was curled
around into a tight spiral. That spiral jaw fascinated me. I could not
keep my eyes off it, and I did not think of the boat spade. There was no
time to use it, anyway, even if I had thought of it. The whale had the
boat fairly in his mouth, between the tub and the after oar, and he lost
no time in closing, biting it cleanly in two. The water rushed in upon
me, still sitting at my oar. I saw the stern sheets fall square with the
whale’s snout, and Mr. Brown step off upon it and dive. Then the water
closed over me for an instant; but I had not let go my oar, and I came to
the surface, sputtering, and hugging the oar close. I do not remember
that I was frightened, but my whole attention was occupied, and I did
not know what was happening to the others, nor to myself, until I
found myself on the bottom of the forward half of the boat. I have
often wondered just how I got there.
As soon as I was in a condition to observe anything, I saw the whale
feebly butting the stern of the boat from side to side, about fifteen feet
away, while Black Man’el and Mr. Brown were swimming, Man’el as if
he were hurt. I saw Mr. Brown help Man’el to the steering oar, which
still swung there, and then the whale turned to our half of the boat.
His butts were so feeble—no more than gentle pushes—that we had no
difficulty in holding on; and, after pushing us about for two or three
minutes, he very simply rolled over upon his side, fin out.
Mr. Tilton’s crew had seen our predicament, and had been pulling
hard for us, and Mr. Macy had lowered from the ship. Mr. Tilton took
us off. Black Man’el was the only one hurt. He had an ugly wound in his
arm, which the whale’s teeth had caught and ripped from shoulder to
elbow, but no bones were broken. I thought the boat was hopelessly
stove, and of no further use to anybody, except for firewood; but
Captain Nelson had Mr. Macy pick up the pieces, and Peter afterward
made another boat of them.
The whale made seventy-three barrels. His deformed jaw was saved
and cleaned, and when the Clearchus got home, it was added to the
collection of such curiosities. It is now in the Whaling Museum.
The outcome of the other fight was different. The officers were at
breakfast when we heard the cry from the masthead, and we all ran on
deck at once. There were many spouts, quite a large school, four or five
miles to leeward. We ran down for them, getting the boats and their
gear ready as we went; and at a distance of about a mile we lowered four
boats, all but Captain Coffin’s. His ankle was still giving him some
trouble, although he used it. I have no doubt that that was just the
reason it troubled him, for he had used it too soon and too much, and
he was a great heavy man.
The whales in the school were, most of them, rather small cows;
but there were two bulls of good size, about eighty or ninety barrels,
Mr. Brown guessed. The boats devoted their attention to them. There
was sea enough to make it easy to approach the whales, and they were
to leeward, which made it easier still. Mr. Baker and Mr. Macy took
one, while Mr. Tilton and Mr. Brown took the other. Mr. Baker struck
his whale first, and Mr. Macy did not get fast to him at all, for he
immediately ran to windward, not very fast, towing Mr. Baker, with Mr.
Macy in pursuit. I did not see much of it, naturally; but Mr. Macy failed
to catch him, and when he had taken Mr. Baker five miles to windward
of the ship, the whale increased his speed, and the line parted.
Starbuck had not been able to get both irons into him, and the second
harpoon, skittering along on the top of the water, had cut and frayed
the line. I could imagine Mr. Baker’s flow of language at that accident,
which is one of the regular risks of the business. There was nothing for
the two boats to do but to get back and try to find the rest of the
school, but the school had gone. So had we.
Meanwhile we had struck our whale. We approached him from
behind. I heard the hoarse bellow of his spout getting nearer—he was
the loudest spouter I ever heard; we passed his flukes, which worked
slowly and lazily, for he had not seen us, and the sea made too much
noise for him to hear us; then we passed his small and his hump. Then
Mr. Brown nodded to the Prince, and he stood up, I suppose, although
I saw nothing of him. Then Mr. Brown laid the boat around, and we ran
spang into the whale’s body just aft of his fin, and the Prince darted
both of his irons as Mr. Brown yelled to us, “Stern all!” The whale gave
one convulsive leap ahead, his flukes went into the air, and came down
again, drenching everybody in the boat, and he sounded instantly and
rapidly. He took out line very fast, one tub and half of the other; then
he turned, and came up again as fast as he went down. The line went
out very nearly as fast when he was coming up as when he went down,
but it was held on the loggerhead, so that it did not all go out. He
breached a short distance from the boat, almost his whole length out,
falling back with a great noise and a splash which filled us half full of
water.
 A NANTUCKET SLEIGH-RIDE

Mr. Tilton, meanwhile, had been coming up as fast as he could, but

he was not yet up with us. The whale obligingly lay still, looking about
him with a malevolent eye, while we heaved in the slack of our line. We
had it almost in when he caught sight of Mr. Tilton’s boat, and made
for it instantly. Mr. Tilton withdrew a little, and the whale changed his
mind and sounded again, but not deep. The cows of the school had
come up, and were hovering near, but not near enough for Mr. Tilton to
get any of them easily, and he had his eye on our bull. The cows seemed
to have lost their wits. They reminded me of a flock of hens crossing
the road, and they were as hard to get. Our bull came up, and we
managed to give Mr. Brown one chance with the lance. The thrust had
not reached any vital spot, and that was all we could do, for the whale
made up his mind to run.
He ran to leeward, but he ran under water, and we went off on our
sleigh-ride, accompanied by the whole school of cows. Now and then
he came up to spout, but we were slowly distancing Mr. Tilton. We
made several unavailing attempts, to pull up and lance, but the only
effect was to increase the speed of the whale. The ship was hull down,
and Mr. Tilton soon out of sight. That was early in the forenoon. That
whale ran until late in the afternoon before we were able to pull up. As
soon as he felt Mr. Brown’s lance, the whale sounded, head first, his
flukes grazing the bottom of the boat as he went, and setting her to
rolling, but not rolling her over. When he felt her, he turned like a
flash, and came up again, obliquely at us, mouth open and belly up,
thrusting and striking with his jaw. Most fortunately he did not stove
the boat, but rolled it over, merely chipping the gunwale with his teeth.
Then he seemed to think that he had done damage enough—in
which matter I agreed with him—probably settled us; and he lay about
fifty feet away, snapping his spout hole and snapping his jaws, giving
every evidence of extreme irritation, but not attacking. We should have
been helpless if he had, and should have had to take to the water, and
scatter. He was spouting thin blood, and probably in no great distress. I
remember that several of the men, clinging to the bottom of the
overturned boat, coolly discussed the color of the spout, and
concluded that the whale was not seriously hurt, even with two
harpoons in him, and two thrusts of the lance.
We slowly drifted nearer, until we rose and fell side by side, the boat
occasionally rubbing against him, but he gave us no attention. The
cows had disappeared. He lay there for over an hour, until we saw Mr.
Tilton coming up under sail. When the whale caught sight of Mr.
Tilton’s boat, he made for it at once, snapping his jaws. Mr. Tilton then
had his sail down, and he backed away, evading the rush of the whale,
and putting an iron into him. Upon feeling the iron, the whale ran
again. He had not gone far, however,—not above a quarter of a mile,—
when the line went slack, showing that the iron had drawn. We did not
see that whale again, nor our two harpoons and tub of line. It was long
after dark when we got aboard the ship, pretty well worn out.
The experience with that whale rankled in my mind for a long time.
To think that any whale could do about as he pleased with two boats
and twelve men, keep the men working hard for about ten hours, and
then get away with harpoons and line, was almost too much. It
exasperated me. Even when we were off the Solomon Islands, well on
our way to New Zealand, I was thinking of it, and complained of it to
Peter, for about the hundredth time.
He laughed comfortably. “Still thinking o’ that, lad?” he asked.
“You ’d best forget it. It ’s all in the day’s work. The others have forgot it
long ago. Whales ’d be poor sort o’ critters if they did n’t get the better
of us some o’ the time. When you come to think of it, it ’s a wonder we
ever get a whale. Why, they ought to kill us all, and they would if they
had any brains in that monstrous head of theirs.”
 CHAPTER XXXII
For some time Captain Coffin was excited and rest­less; even more rest­‐
less than usual, and he was always a rest­less and active man. Although
he would some­times sit still for long periods, he left you with the
impression of activity, of tension, as though he was prepared instantly
for anything. At such times his eyes were very bright, and from time to
time his head turned alertly. I had no doubt that he was hatching pos­‐
si­ble plans for the recap­ture of the Battles, or, at any rate, that his brain
was seeth­ing with ideas, probably chaotic, which he was trying to
reduce to something like order. We were in the seas for which he was
certain that she was bound, the one refuge of every mutinous or
piratical crew.
All of us had been thinking more or less of the Battles. My own
thoughts, I remember, were about equally divided between her and
can­ni­ba­lism. Cannibalism always has a peculiar fascination for the
minds of young and old, although we older people pretend that it is the
scientific side, the history of the race, and the origin of the practice
that fascinates us. For a boy it is the grue­some­ness that fascinates, and
I made no pretense about it. We had passed the Solomons, about
which I had heard various horrible tales, and were passing the Fijis. We
did not even see the Fijis, although I stood at the rail for about two
hours, straining my eyes to the eastward for a possible sight of them,
while the brisk trade wind blew in my face. I got something out of it:
dreams of coral islands, and of breadfruit and coconuts, and the
soothing of that great, steady wind upon my spirit. I do not know what
Captain Coffin got out of it. I saw him standing at the main rigging,
doing the same thing.
When we got to the New Zealand grounds we began at once the
regular routine of cruising, but saw no whales for three days. We did
see two whalers, one of them from home, having sailed a week or two
after we did, and come around the Horn. This was the Henry, Captain
Jefferson. We lay to for the whole of that day, while we had a good gam,
Captain Nelson going aboard her for the forenoon, and their first mate
coming aboard of us. In the afternoon the two captains adjourned to
the Clearchus, and the Henry’s mate went back, followed by Mr. Baker
in his boat. The Henry had no mail for us—none for me, at least—and
I did not send any of my journal by her, only a brief letter to my
mother, for the chances were that we should get home as soon as she.
Each captain had whaling news of value to the other, and possibly the
rum on the Clearchus was different from the Henry’s, and they wanted
to compare them. Captain Jefferson put off about sunset, and Mr.
Baker came back. Much to the dis­ap­point­ment of Captain Nelson,
Captain Jefferson knew nothing about any new cruising ground, the
place where the Apollo had filled up.
A couple of days later we raised the spouts of a small pod of fairly
large whales, and got one of fifty barrels, which Mr. Macy killed. The
other boats chased for three hours in a heavy combing sea, but the
whales got away. After that we had the usual luck, nothing
extraordinary. We chased a good many times with no result, and got
three whales which gave up their lives quietly. The whales on the New
Zealand grounds were rather big fellows, for the most part, sixty barrels
and upward; and some have been taken there which ran well over one
hundred barrels—one of one hundred and thirty-seven barrels, I
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