forward, beautifully rising over the waters, and dashing along like a white whale in alarm. As soon as the boat neared us, we learned that during my absence the crew of the George Henry had captured two whales, and this news was soon afterward fully confirmed when I saw the huge carcasses alongside of the ship.
On board. Captain B and his crew were busy and joyous over the work. A friendly word was hastily given, and I went below. I regretted to learn that a man had been seriously injured, nearly losing his life by a blow from one of the captured whales. The boat in which this man was had run with a six-knot breeze right on the whale in an oblique direction, its bow actually mounting the monster's back near its tail. At that moment the "boat-header"—Morgan—threw, with all the force of a bold, expert man, two harpoons in quick succession. The whale, feeling the concussion of the boat and the sharp wounds of the irons in his back, desperately and fiercely struck his flukes about, right and left, with the force of a thousand-horse engine. The sea became white under its maddened fury. Occasionally the tip of one of his flukes was raised high above the boat's side, as if about to deal instant destruction to all, and once a blow came heavily down. Morgan saved himself by jumping on one side; but the nearest man was struck and knocked down senseless. The boat's mast was lifted from the step, and the sail thrown in the water, but, fortunately, the boat itself escaped destruction. The huge monster expended most of his power in lashing the water, and then "sounded," that is, dived into the depths below. On returning to the surface he was met by lances, which caused the usual spouting of blood, and then followed the death-stroke, which made the whale a prize to the daring seamen who had attacked it.
