There were now two boats’ crews swimming about in {339} the sea, and making away, as fast as they could, from the neighborhood of the stove boats. I tried to count heads, and although I could not be certain, because of their continual bobbing out of sight behind seas, I thought that they were all there. The truculent whale was having a good time, cutting about amid the floating wreckage, knocking the parts of the boats out of the way with his head, and instantly slamming anything that he felt with his flukes. In this process he succeeded in getting himself thoroughly entangled in the line, so that he appeared almost as if he were enclosed in a net. Mr. Brown’s boat was then called away to help, and I could not follow the fight closely, but was to get into it instead. Meanwhile Mr. Macy had been trying to get into it. It was inviting disaster to go in and put an iron into the whale, but Mr. Macy would have done it if he could. He simply could not do it, the whale thrashed about so. At last, in his ragings, the whale saw Mr. Macy’s boat just beyond the circle of wreckage, and made for it. By skilful use of the steering oar Mr. Macy avoided his rush, and Hall, the boatsteerer, seizing the whaling gun, fired a bomb into him as he passed just beyond darting distance. That was twice repeated before we came up, without noticeable effect upon the whale, and Mr. Macy had all he could do to keep the boat out of those jaws, for the whale had taken the offensive, and was doing well. I had this part of the story from George Hall, himself, after we got back to the ship. We had been taking down an empty cask, with one of our canvas flags, such as we used on our drugs, stuck in the bung-hole. When we got as near as we could, we left this cask floating, and retired a little, putting the cask between us and the whale. The light cask, as large as a hogshead, floating high, soon drew the attention of the whale, which left Mr. Macy, and went for it. The antics of the cask under the repeated buttings of the whale were {340} comical. It was nearly as light, in comparison with the strength of the whale, as a football. When he struck it with his nose it gave out a resounding _Ping-g!_ and leaped into the air. This exasperated him further. He could see nothing, think of nothing, but that resounding cask. He chased it, and butted it again. Again the loud, deep _Ping-g!_ He butted it again and again; chased it and knocked it from side to side, made frantic by its elastic resistance. Our whole crew went into spasms of laughter, regardless of the fact that we had something else to do than to laugh at the antics of a crazy whale, and that, at any instant, he might transfer his attention to us. The loaded boat would not act as the cask did.