I have never in my life known it to blow harder than it did in the next few hours. We rode it out, safe in the lee of our sea anchor, drenched to the skin, all of us, and very cold. Although the sea rose very quickly as soon as the hail stopped, and ran very high, the carcass of the whale seemed to smooth the seas out, and none broke around us; but the boats stood almost on end. My heart was in my mouth most of the time, but I do not think my apprehensions were evident to the others. Heaven knows I tried hard enough, for I was even more afraid of showing fear than I was of the wind and the sea. I think the fact that we were in a small boat, and near the water, was a help. I was more used to that, and, somehow, I never feel so helpless in a small boat as I do in a ship. I have not got over that feeling to this day. I suppose I should have felt better still if I had been alone or with no one but Jimmy Appleby. A man seems to have more of a chance in a small boat, and is not subject to the orders—and the mistakes—of somebody. That somebody might be like Mr. Wallet. If there is a mistake, it is his own. Night fell while it was blowing viciously and raining. In a few hours the rain stopped, but the wind did not. It seemed to blow harder, and it gradually shifted to the southeast; and after a while the stars came out. I do not know how long it was, for I had lost all sense of time. I had got over the worst of my scare, and I was too tired to think. I crouched down in the boat, and I fell asleep, soaked and cold as I was. It was gray dawn when I awoke, stiff and cramped. I saw Mr. Brown in his place, gazing out at the eastern sky. He had been awake all night, ready to cut if the carcass of the whale showed signs of sinking; but it was still {187} afloat, and no lower in the water than it had been the night before. Mr. Baker’s boat was so near that we could almost have touched oars.