The capture of whales in those days had more danger if not more excitement than now, for the only method was by rowing after them, helped by the sails, in the 28-foot, double-ended rowboats made for the purpose (of which every vessel carried six or eight), and sinking into their vitals darts and lances until they died. They were then towed to the vessel’s side, held by tackle from the yard-arms in a suitable position, and cut up. The oil in early days was packed in casks, but later has been run into iron tanks built into the hold, after having been tried out of the blubber in the great caldrons set in brick on the forward deck, which gave a whaler so peculiar an appearance, at all times, and would lead any one to suppose her on fire while the process of trying-out was going on, and the great volumes of black smoke caused by the use of whale-fat and waste as fuel were drifting to leeward. One of the best accounts of a chase published is that by the late Temple Brown, of the United States Fish Commission, in an article in “The Century” for February, 1893, from which I am permitted to make an extract: While cruising on the coast of New Zealand, one day about 11.30 A. M., the lookout at the main hailed the deck with: “Thar sh’ b-l-o-w-s! Thar sh’ b-l-o-w-s! Blows! B-l-o-w-s!” “Where away?” promptly responded the officer of the deck. “Four points off the lee bow! Blows sperm-whales! Blows! Blows!” came from aloft. “How far off?” shouted the captain, roused out of his cabin by the alarm, as his head and shoulders appeared above deck. “Where are they heading?” he continued, as he went up the rigging on all-fours. “Blows about two miles and a half off, sir,” replied Mr. Braxton, the mate, looking off the lee-bow with his glasses, “and coming to windward, I believe.” “Call all hands!” said the captain. “Haul up the mainsail, and back your main-yards. Hurry up there! Get your boats ready, Mr. Braxton!”