Meanwhile a second whale had risen some distance ahead of Mr. Brown. They pulled hard for it, a much longer pull than Mr. Baker’s. When Mr. Baker was well on his way to the coast of South America, and I turned my glass on Mr. Brown’s boat, he had succeeded in getting near the unsuspecting whale, approaching from behind. The whale had just become aware of it—he had not seen it, but probably he had heard it—and was preparing to see about having something done about it. What that would have been I was never to find out, for the boatsteerer was just taking in his oar. The boatsteerer was Starbuck, an energetic Nantucketer from Mr. Tilton’s boat, who had been given Wright’s place over the head of Black Tony—the Prince—to my dis­ap­point­ment. I think most of the men would have been glad to see the Prince get it. The officers would have been glad, too; but the Prince was as black as the ace of spades. That fact stuck in their crops. It always does, whatever may be said; and, although there was no serious objection to a black boatsteerer, that would be the end of promotion for him, while Starbuck was one of themselves, and would go as high as his natural ability would take him.

Well, Starbuck was just taking in his oar. They were very close, and he had no time to get his breath after his hard pull, but must throw the harpoon at once; and it was his first whale, and he was undoubtedly nervous. The consequence was that he did not make a good dart, and although the harpoon struck, it was not thrown hard enough, and only the barb penetrated. His second iron missed altogether.

Fortunately the whale did not seem greatly disturbed, but only a little surprised. He appeared to change his mind about the boat, and swam off at a leisurely gait. Mr. Tilton was nearly up by this time, and Mr. Brown, fearing that the harpoon would pull out at any moment, signalled him to get fast to the whale. Mr. Tilton did. His boatsteerer, Azevedo, a stocky, heavily set Western Islander, sunk both irons to the haft in the whale’s other side, just behind the flipper. Whether the harpoons had touched a vital spot I do not know, but the actions of the whale were peculiar. In fact, he did not act at all, but lay like a vast log on the water, giving both Mr. Brown and Mr. Tilton all the chance in the world to pull up and lance him. This they did, both, one from each side. The whale lay so low in the water that I could see nothing of him, but it turned me rather sick to see them both pumping their lances up and down in him, seeking the life, that being the great arterial reservoir I have mentioned. Mr. Brown found it, and the whale began to spout thick blood. It seemed to me a revolting business, mere butchery of a great beast that was harmless and passive. Was this the career I had chosen? I put the glass down, feeling a little sick at my stomach and rather faint, and leaned against the mast and closed my eyes, missing the flurry, which they told me afterwards was lively enough to make up for the whale’s previous inaction.

By putting down the glass and closing my eyes I missed the first part of an incident which would have given me some pleasure. The ship had got pretty near the boats by that time, and I was roused by a shout from the Admiral and from the crew on deck. Mr. Wallet was slow in getting into action, as was quite usual with him. Two other whales had come up, and one of them, chancing to rise very near Mr. Wallet’s boat just as he was taking in his sail and about to unstep his mast, made for the boat without an instant’s hesitation. It was this that had caused the men to shout. There was nothing harmless and passive about that whale, and I could have killed him without a qualm—if I had been in the boat and had had a chance. The men in the boat evidently saw no chance to do anything but get out, for the whale had gone under water a short distance from the boat, and they knew what he would do next. He did it. He rose at some speed directly under the boat, and tossed it into the air as if it had been a straw, staving it completely, the men spilling out on each side. Two of the men had jumped out before the whale struck them, and were swimming away, and the others seemed to be swimming away from the fragments of the boat as fast as they could, but I could not see, at the time, whether they all got away or not. It was all white water there. The whale was in a furious temper, and chewed the wreckage of the boat and the oars to splinters, and then thrashed the mass with his flukes. He missed the men, probably failing to see them; and, having done all the damage he could, he made off slowly, pausing in a truculent way as if he was in doubt whether he should attack Mr. Brown and Mr. Tilton. I have had no doubt, since I have come to know whales better than I did then, that he would have attacked them if he had seen them clearly. They were over a quarter of a mile away. But you never can tell what a whale will do.

Mr. Brown immediately cast loose from the dead whale, but he did not, as I expected, go at once to the rescue of the men from Mr. Wallet’s boat. These men were swimming about in the water. I could just see their heads. They had begun to go back to the wreckage of the boat and pick up pieces of oars and fragments of planks from the broken boat to cling to. Mr. Brown, so far as I could see, paid them no attention, but made after the whale, which had abandoned its leisurely gait, and was swimming in a business-like way, as though he had just remembered an appointment. The chase was a short one, for the boat did not gain at all with the men pulling their hearts out, and Mr. Brown gave it up, and went back to pick up the men.

Mr. Tilton had also cast loose, having put a waif on the dead whale—a waif is a little flag on a pole, which is stuck in a hole made with a spade for that purpose—and he had gone in chase of other whales which had come up. But the pod seemed to be thoroughly alarmed, and the three whales in sight were making off at a pace too fast for the boats. That made six whales in the pod, for I thought there were no more.

Both Mr. Brown and Mr. Tilton appeared to be of my opinion, for they were giving the dead whale all their attention. Both boats were alongside of it for some time. I could not see just what they were doing, but they were evidently getting ready to tow it—probably making the lines fast—and presently the two boats straightened out and began pulling toward the ship. It was hard work towing that whale, and they got ahead so slowly that I could not mark their progress, the whale nearly under water, and the seas washing gently over his back. The ship was bearing down on them, and they stopped rowing, and waited for her.

There were already sharks about the carcass, half a dozen or more, attracted in some mysterious way. They had come in with it; had appeared with the first blood. It took some little manœuvring to get the carcass in proper position close along the starboard side, where the cutting-stage is rigged, the flukes forward, and the head about at the gangway. Then a line with a sinker attached was dropped between the ship and the body of the whale. Beyond the sinker was more line with a float on the end. The sinker was dropped down deep enough to carry the float down clear of the body, then pulled up again, and the float came up beyond the whale. It always does. I never saw it fail. The men in the boat got that line, and hauled in on it, and pulled it all in, and a heavier line attached to its end, and then a chain cable to which the heavy line was fast. They made the chains fast, the fluke chain about the tail at the smallest part, just before it begins to spread into the flukes, so that the carcass would turn in it freely. The flukes sometimes measure, from point to point, as much as twenty feet.

We began cutting-in at once. It was already well on into the afternoon when we began, and within a couple of hours we sighted Mr. Baker’s boat returning dejectedly, without their whale. The men soon came aboard, rather crestfallen. Peter told me that the shank of one iron twisted off, and the other pulled out. The whale was still going too fast for the boat, and there was nothing to be done except to come back.

“Best we could do, we could n’t heave in hard enough to get close,” he said. “Then Mr. Baker tried pitchpoling.”