I was much taller and stronger than when I had tackled Lupo, and Mr. Snow was not the man that Lupo was. Still, I was not prepared for the strength that he showed. Although I succeeded in deflecting the rifle, he managed to discharge it, catching the flesh of my thumb partly under the hammer, making a wound that bothered me for weeks. The bullet ploughed up the deck. Then another pair of arms enveloped him. It was Mr. Macy, and in his arms Mr. Snow was helpless. Then the boatsteerers and the other mates appeared, with the captain just behind them, and I let go my hold and fell back.

Mr. Snow was violently insane, there was no doubt about that. He struggled, shouted, and foamed at the mouth. They took him below, and he was kept locked in his cabin for two days, but he made such a row there that nobody could get much sleep. On the second day he succeeded in setting fire to his mattress, which made a great smoke and almost smothered him. The fire was put out and he was resuscitated; but Captain Nelson was forced, for the safety of the ship, to put him in irons and remove him from the cabin. I used to hear his cries and shouts for days, issuing from the bowels of the Clearchus somewhere. Finally they stopped, and I was afraid that he had died; but the steward told me that he was only sulking, and would not say a word, or take any notice of him when he carried food to him. I did not blame Mr. Snow for that, and thought it might be a symptom of returning sanity. The steward was a thoroughly obnoxious little pest and had a special animosity toward Mr. Snow for continuing to live and adding to his work. Poor fellow! I refer to Mr. Snow, and not to the steward. What an unhappy time he must have had ever since we left Cape Town!

We were standing to the northeast, for the Keeling Islands, hoping to find some homeward-bound whaler there to which we could transfer our crazy man. Imagine having such a passenger foisted upon you; but nobody seemed to have any doubt that any whaler going home would take him. It seemed to be his only chance—and ours. It was wearing upon the nerves of every one in the ship to hear the noises that he made, and then to have the noises stop. I used to listen for them, and Peter said that the men used to; and the men were highly superstitious, as ignorant sailors are apt to be. I have no shame in acknowledging that I was superstitious myself. The men maintained that nothing but bad luck would come from it, and I found myself of their opinion, although I knew well enough that it was foolish and had no sense or reason in it, unless the very belief of the men should bring on the thing they feared. Nevertheless, I was in suspense—waiting for it.

The bad luck came soon enough. We had got about halfway to the Keelings, and had not seen a single spout. That did not bother Captain Nelson, for I have no reason to think he was expecting to see any; but one afternoon we raised a solitary spout to leeward. We had struck the southeast trades two days before, and were then bowling along merrily, the ship making a great fuss, but not so much headway as anybody would be led to think who did not know her ways. The wind was strong from a little south of east, which made it as nearly close-hauled as was comfortable for the Clearchus, and it was typical trade-wind weather. The whale was about three or four miles off the lee bow when we first saw his spout.

We did not lower at once; indeed, there was doubt whether we should lower at all. I saw Captain Nelson gazing at the spout for a long time, evidently in doubt what to do. Obviously, he hated to lose the time, for he was anxious to get Mr. Snow started home as soon as possible, and any delay might mean that he would miss the ship which otherwise he would catch. I could almost see the arguments which passed through his mind. Captain Nelson was a tender-hearted man under his crust, and I believe his anxiety was entirely for Mr. Snow, and that he was thinking of getting him started home as soon as possible rather than contemplating the relief it would be to get rid of him. But obviously, too, he was out for whales, and there was one within easy reach; “she blows and she breaches, and sparm at that,” to quote the immortal classic of Captain Simmons. “Ile is sceerce, and ile is money.” That settled it. Captain Nelson began to move slowly to and fro, and I knew that we should lower as soon as we got into a favorable position.

Soon after Mr. Snow’s collapse Captain Coffin had been offered the fourth mate’s berth until there should be something better. He took it at once, like the good sport he was. The two men who came with him relieved the sailmaker and me, so that I was now nothing but cabin boy. I did not like being uncere­mon­i­ously pushed out of my boat in that way, but there was nothing to do or say about it, so I held my peace, and tried to be contented.

Mr. Baker and Captain Coffin lowered—I suppose I should not speak of him as Captain Coffin now, as he was temporarily fourth mate, and plain Mr. Coffin. The whale was travelling about as fast as the ship, and had not sounded since we had sighted him. There was something a little odd about the way he travelled, but it was nothing very extraordinary, and it was only after we had been watching him for a good while that it was forced upon our attention. It turned out that the whale was blind. Mr. Tilton was the first man to say what was the matter, and it dawned upon him only when he saw how the whale acted while the boats were pulling up to strike.

They approached from the rear, where the whale could not have seen them in any case. Mr. Baker was to starboard of him, and about a boat’s length ahead of Mr. Coffin, who was to port. The wash of the seas under the strong trade wind was enough to nearly drown the noise of the oars, and the men were pulling hard. Mr. Baker was just drawing past the flukes, when the whale seemed to feel that every­thing was not as it should be. The slow, steady, pumping motion of the flukes ceased, and the great flukes moved from side to side, feeling, as delicately and gently as the antennæ of an insect, for whatever they might find. Mr. Baker pulled ahead, and avoided them. Mr. Coffin tried to avoid them, but could not, for they were just abeam of him, and the men felt the gentle touch upon the keel amidships. At that moment Starbuck planted his first iron near the side fin, and at that touch upon the keel, Miller, knowing instantly that something would happen, hastily seized a harpoon, and darted. The harpoon struck just under the hump. There was no chance for a second iron, for the flukes lifted convulsively, staving in two planks, and rolling the boat over; then came down in a smashing blow upon the water, and the whale started to run.

The men of Captain Coffin’s boat were swimming about the wreck. I was watching through my old glass, and counted heads. There was one missing, although I could not tell, at that distance, who it was. Mr. Baker was fast disappearing, to the eastward, in the foaming wake of the whale. Still watching, I thought I saw a head suddenly bob up in the sea behind the whale. I lost it, and, after a long search, I found it again. The man, whoever he was, seemed to be having difficulty in swimming. I dropped the glass to the end of its lanyard, where it swung and bumped against my chest at every jump, while I ran to tell Captain Nelson. Mr. Brown lowered at once, and went after him.

Mr. Brown was soon back with Captain Coffin, who had torn a tendon in his ankle. He had been caught under his boat when it rolled over, and a tub of line had been emptied over him, entangling him completely. The coils of line were wound about his body, arms, and legs, and the whale was running. He fought desperately to get clear of the line, and thought he was clear, when a bight of the line tightened about his ankle. He was jerked under water when the line came taut, but managed to get hold of the line, pull himself forward, and cut. Captain Coffin was a powerful man, never lost his head, and was resourceful; but most whalemen who survive—and many who do not—are that. He was helped into the cabin, and spent most of the next three weeks with his bandaged ankle up on the lounge there, fretting because he could not return to his duty.