“There she turns,” Daughtry called out.

Half a mile away, the whale circled about sharply and charged back.

“Stand from under for’ard there!” Captain Doane shouted to one of the sailors who had just emerged from the forecastle scuttle, sea-bag in hand, and over whom the fore-topmast was swaying giddily.

“He’s packed for the get-away,” Daughtry murmured to the Ancient Mariner.  “Like a rat leaving a ship.”

“We’re all rats,” was the reply.  “I learned just that when I was a rat among the mangy rats of the poor-farm.”

By this time, all men on board had communicated to Michael their contagion of excitement and fear.  Back on top of the cabin so that he might see, he snarled at the cow whale when the men seized fresh grips against the impending shock and when he saw her close at hand and oncoming.

The Mary Turner was struck aft of the mizzen shrouds.  As she was hurled down to starboard, whither Michael was ignominiously flung, the crack of shattered timbers was plainly heard.  Henrik Gjertsen, at the wheel, clutching the wheel with all his strength, was spun through the air as the wheel was spun by the fling of the rudder.  He fetched up against Captain Doane, whose grip had been torn loose from the rail.  Both men crumpled down on deck with the wind knocked out of them.  Nishikanta leaned cursing against the side of the cabin, the nails of both hands torn off at the quick by the breaking of his grip on the rail.

While Daughtry was passing a turn of rope around the Ancient Mariner and the mizzen rigging and giving the turn to him to hold, Captain Doane crawled gasping to the rail and dragged himself erect.

“That fetched her,” he whispered huskily to the mate, hand pressed to his side to control his pain.  “Sound the well again, and keep on sounding.”

More of the sailors took advantage of the interval to rush for’ard under the toppling fore-topmast, dive into the forecastle, and hastily pack their sea-bags.  As Ah Moy emerged from the steerage with his own rotund sea-bag, Daughtry dispatched Kwaque to pack the belongings of both of them.

“Dry as a bone, sir,” came the mate’s report.

“Keep on sounding, Mr. Jackson,” the captain ordered, his voice already stronger as he recovered from the shock of his collision with the helmsman.  “Keep right on sounding.  Here she comes again, and the schooner ain’t built that’d stand such hammering.”

By this time Daughtry had Michael tucked under one arm, his free arm ready to anticipate the next crash by swinging on to the rigging.

In making its circle to come back, the cow lost her bearings sufficiently to miss the stern of the Mary Turner by twenty feet.  Nevertheless, the bore of her displacement lifted the schooner’s stern gently and made her dip her bow to the sea in a stately curtsey.

“If she’d a-hit . . . " Captain Doane murmured and ceased.