Four days later one of the men sighted another whale and when he was alongside it was noted that he was of great size. Would he prove larger than the Gay Header’s whale? That was the question. Comment and guessing went on for several days while the toilful labor was pursued. Towards the last of the trying-out and stowing down the excitement rose to a high pitch, and the announcements were eagerly received. As we were nearing the end 161 barrels was called out, then fifteen gallons more. The amount was increased ten gallons, then the last of it made six gallons more. A shout went up, “A half a gallon short of 162, but call it 162”, and the Gay Header was one barrel ahead. We had now, besides the sperm oil, ten hundred and fifty barrels of whale oil in the hold and twelve thousand pounds of whalebone, not to mention the ambergris. I had written at school very modest verses, lauded by my schoolmates as very fine poetry, and I now composed a crude stanza which I wanted to put in the logbook. With some hesitation and diffidence, I went to Lakeum and stated my request. “I thought I told you, Bleechly, that we didn’t want any scribbling on the log.” “Well,” I replied, “they’ve made some fun of me because they say that my sighting the big sperm was only a matter of luck, and I want to show to whom I would like to have the watch go, if a still larger whale than mine is captured.” “Well, show me the lines.” I have spoken of Lakeum laughing heartily. He repeated the exercise. “Put it in if you want to. I think, however, you’ll make more money whaling than you will writing poetry.” I made the following entry: They call me simply Fancy Chest, And say within my grasp The prize that every tar desires It may be mine to clasp. But, if a man of keener sight A greater whale may claim, I choose a man of royal worth And Ohoo is his name. Some of the crew asked me to repeat the lines. I noticed that they seemed to make an impression only upon Ohoo. He wanted to know if I was writing about something good to eat.