Where we were, the wind was nothing more than a light, variable air, mostly from the southwest; but the Battles was bringing with her a brisk breeze from the southeast. I ran below to get my glass—that load of junk—and hung it about my neck. When I got on deck again the Battles seemed to be hesitating, coming up slowly into the wind, her topsails shaking and her booms evidently swinging. It was as if she no longer felt the directing hand of any man; as if there was nobody at the helm, or she had lost her rudder. I thought it queer behavior, and so did Captain Nelson. He was gazing steadfastly at her, muttering to himself, and wondering what Fred Coffin could be up to. Then he saw me with the glass hanging about my neck. “Here, Tim,” he said, “give me your glass, and run below and get mine.” {158} I gave it to him, and ran below without a word. I was gone but a couple of minutes, but when I got back I saw that the Battles had trimmed her sheets, and was paying off again. “See anything, sir?” I asked eagerly. He shook his head. “Her decks have n’t risen yet,” he said. “Seems to be all right now. I did n’t know but she was in trouble, and we ’d better run down to her; and we have n’t got much of a crew left aboard.” The breeze had not reached the boats yet—it had not reached the whales—but the boats were very much nearer the pod of whales than the Battles was, and our mates evidently thought that they would be fast long before the Battles could lower a boat, and they held on under sail. But the whales were wandering directly away from us, and the Battles, her hesitation over, was now coming fast. I saw first one boat and then another hurriedly take in sail, and the men taking to their oars. I could see the Battles plainly through my glass, and I almost caught the wave she was carrying under her bow. Now and then I saw the top of it through the mirage, as she threw the spray high. It seemed to me that she was almost on top of the whales. She was not, of course. That phenomenon of loss of perspective in using a glass has since become familiar to me. Suddenly the Battles came up into the wind, throwing her topsails aback. It stopped her short, all standing. Two of her boats were away almost before she had stopped, and the men in them pulling as if in a race, the boatheader throwing his weight, with his free hand, on the after oar at each stroke. It was a race in fact, and the prize was a thousand dollars or so. I forget what the price of oil was at the time, but I have the impression that it was low. The Battles’ men were fresh, ours were not, but I saw two of our boats, Mr. Baker’s and Mr. Tilton’s, it turned out, although I could not distinguish them at that {159} distance—both had been helping the pulling in the same way that the boatheaders of the Battles had—come up on one side of a whale just as one of the boats from the Battles came up on the other side. All three harpooners seemed to dart at the same instant.