The men of Captain Coffin’s boat were swimming about the wreck. I was watching through my old glass, and counted heads. There was one missing, although I could not tell, at that distance, who it was. Mr. Baker was fast disappearing, to the eastward, in the foaming wake of the whale. Still watching, I thought I saw a head suddenly bob up in the sea behind the whale. I lost it, and, after a long search, I found it again. The man, whoever he was, seemed to be having difficulty in swimming. I dropped the glass to the end of its lanyard, where it swung and bumped against my chest at every jump, while I ran to tell Captain Nelson. Mr. Brown lowered at once, and went after him. Mr. Brown was soon back with Captain Coffin, who had torn a tendon in his ankle. He had been caught under his boat when it rolled over, and a tub of line had been emptied over him, entangling him completely. The coils of line were wound about his body, arms, and legs, and the whale was running. He fought desperately to get clear of the line, and thought he was clear, when a bight of the line tightened about his ankle. He was jerked under water when the line came taut, but managed to get hold of the line, pull himself forward, and cut. Captain Coffin was a powerful man, never lost his head, and was resourceful; but most whalemen who survive—and many who do not—are that. He was helped into the cabin, and spent most of the next three weeks with his bandaged ankle up on the lounge there, fretting because he could not return to his duty. [Illustration: THE MATE] Mr. Brown had made another trip, and brought back the stove boat and its crew. That was a job for Peter. Mr. Baker had gone off dead to windward. It was almost hopeless to stand after him in the Clearchus, but we did so, making short tacks so that he might not lose us. He {281} came back about dark, rather crestfallen, without his whale. After running ten or twelve miles, the whale had sounded out all his line. He waited more than an hour for the whale to come up, in the hope that he could, at least, get hold of the line again; but nothing had been seen of the whale. He must have run for miles under water. {282} CHAPTER XXIX We reached the Keelings late in April, having taken no whales since leaving Desolation. Captain Nelson found that the Bartholomew Gosnold had left a few hours before we arrived. This was unfortunate. I have no doubt that the fact made the captain regret more than ever that he had stopped to lower for the blind whale. He had had a boat stove, Captain Coffin had been laid up, he had missed the Gosnold, and he did not get the whale. Still, probably he would do the same thing again under the same circumstances, and probably he ought to. I was especially sorry that we had missed the Gosnold, for she was going directly home and would have taken letters. It was some months since I had written home, and I had a large instalment of my journal ready to send; but I could send it from Batavia.