When the whale was alongside, and the cutting-in was under way, we found that one eye was sightless and almost gone. This may have been due to fighting, as the twisted jaw was supposed to be due to that cause. I examined the jaw carefully when it was on deck, as did most of the crew. The tip of the jaw was bent sidewise, about two feet of it. It was a mystery to me, and ever since has remained a mystery, how the jawbone of a full-grown whale could be so bent. I could understand how it might be broken, but to be bent as this was, or to be curled around in a spiral, as was the case in our later specimen, it seemed to me that it would have had to be done while the whale was young, and the bone soft and cartilaginous. I could not imagine whales of that tender age fighting {132} fiercely enough to bend a jaw or put out an eye, and I should be convinced—as to the bending of the jaw—only by actually seeing the jaw of a whale bent in a fight with another whale. It might be sufficient if I heard of such an occurrence from a man in whose powers of observation and in whose veracity I had absolute confidence; but who would believe the yarn of the average whaleman? Whalemen are notoriously inaccurate observers, anyway. This whale was an old one, rather old for a whale, although by no means decrepit. What that means in years of life I do not know. The natural life of a whale, barring accidents, would be expected to be of the same order as the life of an elephant, which is popularly believed to live to a great age, from one hundred to three hundred years. I should think that a whale three hundred years old would yield little oil; and this whale of ours made nearly sixty barrels. Poor Wright! We had no surgeon, of course, better than the captain and Mr. Wallet. Wallet was a whale-surgeon. Wright was in great pain for over a week, until we got into Fayal, and his thigh swelled to great size. I used to hear him groaning at night in a subdued fashion. {133} CHAPTER XIV We sighted no more whales, and made for the Azores as fast as the old Clearchus would go, which was not at a dizzying speed. Wright was in such distress that the old man was anxious to get him ashore as soon as possible. He intended to call at Fayal, anyway. In addition to Wright’s necessities, there was some slight refitting to be attended to, he wanted another spare whaleboat, some oars, provisions, and other small matters. He expected to meet the tender there, too. The tender of the whaling fleet was a schooner, not what would be called fast, but faster than any whaler. She would take home the little oil we had, would have letters written since we left, and would take whatever letters we had to send. I wrote up my journal fully, and wrote letters to my father and my mother. I did not seal these, but left them to be added to at the last minute.