At last we got close to one that suited us, and the boats went on head and head; there was not wind enough to manage with the sail, and dipping with the paddle was undesirable for it might result in a scare, so we lay perfectly still, right in his course, and on he came. [Illustration: A posterior view of the Museum’s sperm whale. Longitudinal cuts have been made through the blubber revealing the flesh beneath. ] The harpooner stood up with his darting gun and iron, and just as the great snout passed under our boat, he plunged it vertically right into the middle of the back. There was the report of the gun, a heaving of the boat clear of the water, a sensation like that of passing through a waterspout, and the dull explosion of the shell all in the space of the next second—then the leviathan stretched out dead. The bomb had killed him instantly, and it was well for us that it did, for in the case of an ordinary iron being used, we would have been stove to pieces. As we backed away, up came the black snout of another whale, and then two or three more. They did not seem to know that there was any mischief, and they rolled on top of the dead one as though nothing had happened. What an opportunity to get another one! If there had been a chance to mark our “fish” without getting stove by the others, and cutting loose as we did in a former case, we could have killed another and another; but that was impossible, so a “waif” was set for the second boat, and on they came under oars. And how the bully boys rowed, for the cry had gone up that we were stove, and they pulled to save our lives. [Illustration: Cutting in a sperm whale at sea by the old-time method. ] As they got close, we urged them with our cheers and cries to go in and show what they were good for. Straight ahead they shot onto the “bunch,” and just as they almost touched one that they had picked out, there was the curve of an iron through the air; the next minute they were going like the wind with the whale’s flukes just clearing the stern, throwing spray in every direction. The second mate, as cool as a cucumber and with a happy smile on his face, stood in the bow crouched down to keep as dry as possible, and with his bomb gun under his arm was yelling, “Haul in on the line!” There was no slacking our speed for him, with half a chance to get in a shot! By night two whales were being worked on. That day’s excitement and sport was worth a hundred dollars to me, for the whole thing was truly marvelous and it fully compensates for all the discomfort and privation that I have felt....