We were next to Mr. Snow in the circle in which the boats were spreading, and a little ahead of him. I did not look at Mr. Snow, for my eyes were otherwise occupied. I was aware of him, however, and knew that he was alternately looking briefly at the whales and glaring {211} malevolently at the back of Silver, who rowed tub oar. Silver, although he wielded his paddle industriously, was aware of it too, and it made him nervous, so that he became awkward. Mr. Snow had put in his time since leaving Cape Town largely in gazing malevolently at Silver. He was a little thunder-cloud, threatening always, but doing no damage, except to haze Silver—haze meaning to punish by hard work, unnecessary usually, and as hard as possible—whenever he had the chance. This attitude had resulted in his becoming overbearing to the rest of his crew, and he was fast getting to be the most unpopular officer on the ship. Silver was not a little frightened, for he did not know what he might have said or done to Mr. Snow. He had been in a condition of irresponsibility at the time, and he could not remember. I had overheard him asking one man after another what it was, but they were in no better case for remembering, and could give him no comfort. Silver now became so awkward with his paddle that he missed the water altogether—caught a crab—and fell forward on his knees, striking the oars and making a tremendous rattling and rumbling. We were not far from the whales, and no respectable whale could avoid hearing that noise of wood on wood, like beating a great tom-tom. They cocked up their ears for an instant, but the oars were still rolling about, Silver frantically grabbing at them, and the whales simultaneously raised their flukes high, and went down. Mr. Baker, on the other side of Mr. Snow, launched a string of curses at Mr. Snow’s boat for his carelessness, for he had been on the point of signalling Starbuck to stand up, he was so near his whale. Mr. Snow, in turn, cursed Silver up and down. It was rather startling to hear such a flow of language from such a man. Mr. Snow, just to see him in his usual state, made you think of a Sunday-School teacher. Mr. Brown looked up wearily. I knew him well enough to be sure that he was thinking that cursing would not {212} get them anywhere. Mr. Snow appeared to be of the same opinion, for he stopped his cursing abruptly. We lay on our oars, which we had taken as soon as Silver caught his crab, and waited for the whales.