men lay on their oars and waited.
Presently a great bull rose lazily, spouting in front of the mate's
boat, and lay idly wallowing in the tumbling sea. Approaching
cautiously, the harpooneer drove in the terrible weapon.

In his agony, the great cetacean, instead of sounding, threw himself
blindly toward the boat. So close were they, and so unexpected was the
whale's movement in spite of his vast bulk, that, although the order,
"Stern all!" had been promptly given, they were unable to win clear of
him. The tip of his massive tail, as he thrashed about in his rage,
struck the side of the light, clinker-built boat and smashed a hole in
it. Then the whale started to run, towing the boat, which {233}
immediately began to fill with water under the terrible drag to which
it was subjected. There was nothing to do but cut the line. Two or
three jackets were stuffed into the aperture, and while some bailed,
the others rowed back to the ship. The captain's and second mate's
boats, meanwhile, were seeking the school, which had risen and was
swimming away from the ship.

As soon as the wrecked boat was run up to the davits, the mate swung
the mainyard and got under way, following the other boats. He first
determined to break out the spare boat, but after investigating the
damaged boat, he concluded that he could save time by nailing a patch
of canvas over the broken place, which would serve temporarily to keep
out the water, in case they went in search of another whale in her.
While he was about this, an immense sperm-whale, about eighty-five feet
long, "breached"--that is, coming from a great depth, he shot out of
the water his whole length and then fell back with a tremendous
splash--about fifty fathoms from the ship. After he fell back, he
spouted three or four times, sounded, and once more appeared, this time
about a ship's length off the weather bow of the Essex. Evidently, it
was the whale they had just struck. He was angry, and he meant
business, for as soon as he came to the surface he started for the ship.

Under the light air the vessel was making about three knots. The whale
was going at the same speed. The mate saw at once that if he did not
change his course, the whale would strike his ship. Dropping the
hammer, he shouted to the boy at the helm to put it hard up, and
himself sprang across the deck to reenforce his order. The unwieldy
ship paid off slowly, {234} and before her head had been fairly turn