The condition of the CACHALOT’s deck was now somewhat akin to chaos.  From the cabin door to the tryworks there was hardly an inch of available space, and the oozing oil kept some of us continually baling it up, lest it should leak out through the interstices in the bulwarks.  In order to avoid a breakdown, it became necessary to divide the crew into six-hour watches, as although the work was exceedingly urgent on account of the weather, there were evident signs that some of the crew were perilously near giving in.  So we got rest none too soon, and the good effects of it were soon apparent.  The work went on with much more celerity than one would have thought possible, and soon the lumbered-up decks began to resume their normal appearance.

As if to exasperate the “old man” beyond measure on the third day of our operations a great school of sperm whales appeared, disporting all around the ship, apparently conscious of our helplessness to interfere with them.  Notwithstanding our extraordinary haul, Captain Slocum went black with impotent rage, and, after glowering at the sportive monsters, beat a retreat below, unable to bear the sight any longer.  During his absence we had a rare treat.  The whole school surrounded the ship, and performed some of the strangest evolutions imaginable.  As if instigated by one common impulse, they all elevated their massive heads above the surface of the sea, and remained for some time in that position, solemnly bobbing up and down amid the glittering wavelets like movable boulders of black rock.  Then, all suddenly reversed themselves, and, elevating their broad flukes in the air, commenced to beat them slowly and rhythmically upon the water, like so many machines.  Being almost a perfect calm, every movement of the great mammals could be plainly seen; some of them even passed so near to us that we could see how the lower jaw hung down, while the animal was swimming in a normal position.

For over an hour they thus paraded around us, and then, as if startled by some hidden danger, suddenly headed off to the westward, and in a few minutes were out of our sight.

We cruised in the vicinity of the Comoro Islands for two months, never quite out of sight of the mountain while the weather was clear.  During the whole of that time we were never clear of oil on deck, one catch always succeeding another before there had been time to get cleared up.  Eight hundred barrels of oil were added to our cargo, making the undisciplined hearts of all to whom whaling was a novel employment beat high with hopes of a speedy completion of the cargo, and consequent return.  Poor innocents that we were!  How could we know any better?  According to Goliath, with whom I often had a friendly chat, this was quite out of the ordinary run to have such luck in the “Channel.”