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 rest­less 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 pos­si­ble 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 believe, although we took none over eighty. Several of these large whales gave us trouble.

The first of these was met when we had been there about three weeks. The weather was boisterous, as it was apt to be while we were on those grounds. We raised a lone spout, very full and powerful, on the lee bow. The whale was not feeding, but was coming to windward, and we lowered three boats at once, Mr. Brown’s, Mr. Macy’s, and Captain Coffin’s. Captain Coffin was hardly in condition yet to be of the most service, but he was so eager to go that Captain Nelson let him. All three boats pulled out ahead of the whale to cut him off, and waited. When we first sighted the spout it was above three miles distant, the whale swimming in a business-like way and making five or six knots. We had plenty of time, therefore, to get into good positions, and we drifted down before the wind directly upon his course.

As he was approaching us head on, and as we were drifting without the use of sail or oars—although the men had their oars in their hands and held them in place, ready to use—there was nothing to give the whale warning of our presence, and he came on quite unalarmed. When he was a short distance away, he changed his course slightly, and it looked, for some seconds, as though he would hit the boat, head on, but Mr. Brown laid the boat around a bit, and we pulled a couple of strokes. The next moment his old head, like a cliff of black granite, weather-seamed and scarred, rose just beyond the bow oar. He spouted and pitched under like a flash; but the Prince drove one iron into him just above the fin. There was no chance for the second. The boat whirled around quickly, and we were off, with the thrashing flukes almost abeam. The next spout was thin blood.

The Prince and Mr. Brown changed places, and Mr. Brown called to us to pull him up close so that he could put in another iron. No sooner had we dropped our oars and laid hold of the line to pull, than the whale milled short around, brought his nose accurately to the stem of the boat without giving Mr. Brown a chance, and pushed us fast astern. It was a delicate job for the Prince to hold us straight with the steering oar, and not to let the boat swing around broadside, but for a boat length he did it. Mr. Brown, during that time, was pushing with all his strength on the harpoon, the sharp point against the whale’s rubber-like snout, but the barb did not enter. We heard and saw the whale’s jaw snap up twice, but of course it did not reach the boat. He spouted, sending the acrid vapor, thinly mixed with blood, over us, setting us all to choking, and almost turning me inside out. Then he withdrew a little, and lay there wallowing in the seas, snapping his jaw, and snapping his spout-hole with loud cracks. Sperm whales can snap the spout-hole, which is shaped much like the f-hole of a violin, with tremendous force. Meanwhile he was eyeing us with a malevolent eye, and no wonder.