The whale was undisturbed, and lay there like a huge log, taking his time about having his spoutings out. He was off the lee bow, and we kept on for perhaps ten minutes, to get more to windward of him. Then we lowered two boats. The boats had not gone far when the whale raised his flukes lazily, and went down again; and the boats went on to the points which their officers thought advantageous for the whale’s rising, took down their sails, unshipped their masts, and waited. They had been loafing there about a quarter of an hour when, suddenly, without warning of any kind, the body of a whale shot clear of the water, between the boats, and fell back with a tremendous splash. This was too much for the nerves of one of the green hands, who let loose a yell. The whale had no difficulty in hearing that yell. We heard it on the ship. The whale, which was not the one they had been waiting for, but another, lobtailed twice, and made off between the boats, to windward, before the crews could get their oars in the water. The whale was evidently “gallied,” and was swimming head out. Although the boats took up the chase at once, and we hastily lowered another boat to head him off, if {148} possible, that boat was too late, and he passed a quarter of a mile ahead of the ship. The first two boats, seeing that they were rowing a losing race, returned to their stations, to wait until the first whale rose; but the boat we had lowered, which was the fifth mate’s boat, continued the chase for five miles. It got no nearer in the five miles of hard rowing, and then gave it up, and returned. Meanwhile the two boats were back again, watching the water for a sign of the reappearance of the first whale. The hour was almost up, and I glanced aloft at the Admiral’s station at the foremasthead. The Admiral was not there, for he rowed bow oar in Mr. Snow’s boat—the fifth mate’s—but another man was manipulating the signal flag. I had learned a little of their system of signalling, and I saw that he was telling them that their whale had risen far to leeward. I looked and could just make out the spout, about a couple of miles to leeward of the boats. The whale seemed to be reconnoitering. He swam slowly in a circle, always keeping his distance from the boats and from the ship, and working to windward. “Clean gallied,” said a voice behind me. “Damn that man! They may as well come aboard.” That seemed to be Captain Nelson’s opinion, for the boats were soon called back. It was a disgusted lot of men that came over the side. I had no difficulty in spotting the man who had yelled, and thereby, as they all maintained, had lost them a perfectly good whale. It was Kane, in Mr. Brown’s boat. He looked sheepish and ashamed, and said not a word. Kane afterward became one of our best men.