Macy and Azevedo rarely missed a dart, and they had not missed this time, in spite of their hard pull. Macy had both irons in to the hafts, and Azevedo one. Azevedo was like a bull in strength, but he was not so well placed as Macy—near the flukes—and his second iron did not bite deep, not much above the barb. When the flukes crashed down on the water Mr. Tilton’s boat was deluged, and Almeida, a green hand, was so scared that he jumped overboard. They could not stop then to pick him up, but he was picked up later, badly frightened, but none the worse otherwise. It is doubtful whether any one in Mr. Tilton’s boat gave him a thought, for the whale had started running.
Nobody in either Mr. Baker’s boat or in Mr. Tilton’s seemed to know definitely who had struck first, although they all said, with more or less emphasis, Macy or Azevedo. There was no agreement as to which of the two it was, all in Mr. Baker’s boat saying Macy, and all in Mr. Tilton’s saying Azevedo; and I really think there can be no doubt that all three boats had struck at as nearly the same instant as possible. Certainly the Battles’ men held up their end of the argument a little later. The whale did not run fast nor far, with three boats towing, and every man in every boat heaving on his line for all he was worth. The three mates were standing in the bows with lances poised in their hands; and Mr. Baker, seeing a chance, pitchpoled. At the same instant the mate of the Battles—if it was the mate—also pitchpoled. Peter said it was a pretty sight to see the two lances in the air at the same time, as if they were from two guns fired with the same lanyard. The lances flew true, and pierced the whale at the same moment. They were drawn back by the light warps attached to the hafts, each man working frantically. Mr. Baker was a trifle quicker in recovery. The boat was almost within reach of the whale, but not quite, and he darted the lance with great force. The Battles’ boat was a little nearer the whale, and its lance was held for a second while the men heaved again. Then it was plunged into the side of the whale.
Not one of the three boats took even the usual precautions, which seem little enough, but what chance had the whale with three lances being churned up and down in his in’ards? He just lay still and quivered, spouting thick blood, and gave up the ghost. Then came a ticklish time.
“For a quarter of an hour,” said Peter, who was telling me the story, “I did n’t know whether there was going to be a fight or not, but I rather thought there was. Mr. Baker and the mate of the Battles—he was one of the mates, I s’pose—had it back and forth across the back of the whale, and they both got pretty mad. Mr. Baker said they were first up.
“ ‘You were not!’ said the Battles’ mate. ‘I was first up. But what has that to do with it anyway? Our iron struck first.’
“ ‘Like hell,’ said Mr. Baker. ‘Macy’s iron struck first. Whale ’s ours. I ’d swear to it.’
“ ‘No doubt,’ said the Battles’ mate; ‘but that don’t make it so.’
‘What d’ ye mean?’ said Mr. Baker. ‘Call me a liar, do you?’
“ ‘I ’ll call you anything you like!’ said the Battles’ mate. ‘I ’ll call you thief if you take this whale. It ’s ours.’
“Mr. Baker gave him back as good as he sent, and they got madder and madder. Just as I thought they were going to get in a fight over it, Mr. Baker began to cool down, and the Battles’ mate began to cool down too. We were two boats to his one, and if we chose to just take the whale, he could n’t prevent us, and he knew it. Mr. Baker did n’t want to do it that way, and he knew well enough what the old man would think of it.