mouth. I saw, too, the jaws come together once, and I swear
our second mate was in the bull's mouth when it closed!

But the next moment the maw of the beast opened and in the swirl of foam
and blood-streaked water I caught sight of the senseless Gibson.

"Pull!" I yelled.

And although I had no business to give a command, the men obeyed me and
the boat shot forward again. I seized our second mate by his shirt
collar. In a moment I had lifted him into the boat.

At the same moment Tom Anderly got forward, seized the gun which poor
Gibson had dropped, and sent a bomb-lance into the whale at so short a
distance that it seemed as though we might have touched him by putting
out a hand.

But that fighting whale died hard. It leaped after the bomb exploded
and again we were almost overturned.

"Cut loose! Let the beast go!" cried some of the men.

But Tom Anderly would not lift the boat hatchet. To cut a whale free,
unless it becomes absolutely necessary, is "against the religion" of any
old whaler. As for myself, I was bending over the injured second mate,
trying to revive him.

Ben Gibson had been through a most awful experience. Old Cap'n Wood, of
Nantucket, had been in the mouth of a whale, and lived to tell the
story. I remembered of reading about his experience. But it was a most
awful accident and I feared indeed that the young officer was dead.

Therefore I was not really cognizant of what was going on until half the
crew of our boat began to shriek a multitude of commands and advice.
Then I looked up and saw that the bull whale for a second time was
charging the Scarboro.

It was plain the old fellow realized that the bark was his enemy. He
paid no attention to the boat that was tearing through the sea behind
him. And we was so near the bark now that nothing could be done to
swerve the the fighting whale!

Straight on dashed the big bull, at a speed that snubbed the
whaleboat's nose under water, for we were close up to the beast.
Straight on, with tremendous headway and a fearful, gathering momentum,
headed for the grimy, battle-scarred broadside of the old Scarboro.
Those aboard of the bark could do nothing. She was still hove to. The
fighting whale had missed her by a hand's breadth once before, but this
time he did not swerve.

"Cut loose, Tom!" I yelled, finally understanding--as did the other men
with us--the menacing disaster. In a few seconds we would smash into the
bark's hull, whether the wha