Between the case and the skull lies the “junk,” of still tougher material than the case, but containing considerable oil, although it is not contained in a single well. The cells of the junk are from four to eight inches across, filled with faintly yellow oil, or oily substance, which is translucent when warm. The walls of these cells are composed of extremely tough, interlacing fibres, or ligaments, called “white horse.” The separation of the junk from the case is on a very nearly horizontal line running through the nose just above the bump—or what looks like a bump. The contents of the case seem to be liquid during the life of the whale, but after the body becomes cold, they become partly solid. The solid part is spermaceti. The skull, if separated from the excrescence, bears some resemblance to the head of an alligator, and the eye seems to be set right enough. This separation of the head into its parts was what Mr. Wallet and Mr. Brown were proceeding to accomplish. While they were cutting the case from the junk, Macy and George Hall, boat-steerers for the first and second mates, rove ropes in each cheek {84} for the chains which were to hold the case. When the separation was complete, the case was passed astern, held by chains, nose down in the water, until the cutting-in should be finished and the carcass cut adrift. The junk was then cut away from the skull and hoisted bodily on deck. During the operation of cutting the junk from the skull, they cut alongside and close to the skull, and as they could not see what they were cutting, but had to go by feeling, there were several spades spoiled. The cutters passed these dulled spades in on deck, and freshly sharpened spades were passed to them. I heard the noise of the grindstone during the whole operation. They were a long time in cutting the junk and the case, and there was nothing to see except the swarming sharks, and I got tired of seeing the spades rise and fall out of sight in that mass of flesh, so I turned away. Unfortunately Mr. Baker chanced to see me, and suggested, in unnecessarily vigorous language, that if I had nothing else to do I had better turn the grindstone. I thought it best to humor him, so I went over to that device of the devil, and found Black Tony sharpening spades and Black Man’el turning for him. Man’el looked up. “What you want, little Tim?” he asked, grinning. “Mr. Baker told me to turn the grindstone,” I answered. “Aw, you go ’way f’om here,” said Man’el, his grin widening. “I turn for Tony. You could n’t turn well enough. Nice place over there,” he went on, nodding his head sidewise toward the port rail. “Mr. Baker won’t see you.”