The spout I had seen was a good ten miles off, and, for the present, seemed to belong to a “lone” whale, as it was the only one visible.  There was a good breeze blowing, as much, in fact, as we could carry all sail to, the old barky making a tremendous commotion as she blundered along under the unusual press of canvas.  In the excitement of the race all our woes were forgotten; we only thought of the possibility of the ship getting there first.  We drew gradually nearer to the stranger, who, like us, was carrying all the sail he had got, but, being able to go a point or two free, was outsailing us.

It was anybody’s race as yet, though, when we heard the skipper’s hail, “’Way down from aloft!” as he came up to take our place, The whale had sounded, apparently heading to leeward, so that the weather-gage held by our rival was not much advantage to him now.  We ran on for another two miles, then shortened sail, and stood by to lower away the moment he should re-appear, Meanwhile another ship was working up from to leeward, having evidently noted our movements, or else, like the albatross, “smelt whale,” no great distance to windward of him.  Waiting for that whale to rise was one of the most exciting experiences we had gone through as yet, with two other ships so near.  Everybody’s nerves seemed strung up to concert pitch, and it was quite a relief when from half a dozen throats at once burst the cry, “There she white-waters!  Ah blo-o-o-o-w!” Not a mile away, dead to leeward of us, quietly beating the water with the flat of his flukes, as if there was no such thing in the watery world as a whale-ship.  Splash! almost simultaneously went the four boats.  Out we shot from the ship, all on our mettle; for was not the skipper’s eye upon us from his lofty eyrie, as well as the crew of the other ship, now not more than a mile away!  We seemed a terrible time getting the sails up, but the officers dared not risk our willingness to pull while they could be independent of us.

By the time we were fairly off, the other ship’s boats were coming like the wind, so that eight boats were now converging upon the unconscious monster.  We fairly flew over the short, choppy sea, getting drenched with the flying spray, but looking out far more keenly at the other boats than at the whale.  Up we came to him, Mr. Count’s boat to the left, the other mate’s boat to the right.  Almost at the same moment the irons flew from the hands of the rival harpooners; but while ours was buried to the hitches in the whale’s side, the other man’s just ploughed up the skin on the animal’s back, as it passed over him and pierced our boat close behind the harpooner’s leg.  Not seeing what had happened to his iron, or knowing that we were fast, the other harpooner promptly hurled his second iron, which struck solidly.  It was a very pretty tangle, but our position was rather bad.  The whale between us was tearing the bowels of the deep up in his rage and fear; we were struggling frantically