The Affidavit

So far as what there may be of a narrative in this book; and, indeed, as indirectly touching one or two very interesting and curious particulars in the habits of sperm whales, the foregoing chapter, in its earlier part, is as important a one as will be found in this volume; but the leading matter of it requires to be still further and more familiarly enlarged upon, in order to be adequately understood, and moreover to take away any incredulity which a profound ignorance of the entire subject may induce in some minds, as to the natural verity of the main points of this affair.

As far as this book has a narrative, the early part of the previous chapter is as important as any in the volume. It also touches indirectly on one or two very interesting and curious details about the habits of sperm whales. But its main subject needs a fuller, more familiar explanation to be properly understood. A fuller explanation is also needed to overcome any disbelief that some people’s profound ignorance of the whole subject may cause. Such ignorance may lead them to doubt that the main points of this affair are true to nature.

I care not to perform this part of my task methodically; but shall be content to produce the desired impression by separate citations of items, practically or reliably known to me as a whaleman; and from these citations, I take it—the conclusion aimed at will naturally follow of itself.

I do not care to approach this part of my task systematically. Instead, I will give separate examples that I know firsthand or from reliable sources as a whaleman. I believe the conclusion I seek will follow naturally from these examples.

First: I have personally known three instances where a whale, after receiving a harpoon, has effected a complete escape; and, after an interval (in one instance of three years), has been again struck by the same hand, and slain; when the two irons, both marked by the same private cypher, have been taken from the body. In the instance where three years intervened between the flinging of the two harpoons; and I think it may have been something more than that; the man who darted them happening, in the interval, to go in a trading ship on a voyage to Africa, went ashore there, joined a discovery party, and penetrated far into the interior, where he travelled for a period of nearly two years, often endangered by serpents, savages, tigers, poisonous miasmas, with all the other common perils incident to wandering in the heart of unknown regions. Meanwhile, the whale he had struck must also have been on its travels; no doubt it had thrice circumnavigated the globe, brushing with its flanks all the coasts of Africa; but to no purpose. This man and this whale again came together, and the one vanquished the other. I say I, myself, have known three instances similar to this; that is in two of them I saw the whales struck; and, upon the second attack, saw the two irons with the respective marks cut in them, afterwards taken from the dead fish. In the three-year instance, it so fell out that I was in the boat both times, first and last, and the last time distinctly recognised a peculiar sort of huge mole under the whale’s eye, which I had observed there three years previous. I say three years, but I am pretty sure it was more than that. Here are three instances, then, which I personally know the truth of; but I have heard of many other instances from persons whose veracity in the matter there is no good ground to impeach.

First: I have personally known of three whales that escaped completely after being harpooned. Each was struck again, after some time, by the same man and killed. In one case, three years passed between the two strikes. In each case, two harpoons were taken from the whale’s body, both marked with the same personal cipher. In the case where three years passed between the two harpoon strikes, I think it may have been even longer. During that interval, the harpooner sailed to Africa on a trading ship. He went ashore there, joined an exploration party, and traveled far inland. He spent nearly two years traveling there, often endangered by snakes, savages, tigers, poisonous mists, and all the other common dangers of wandering deep into unknown regions. Meanwhile, the whale he had struck must have been traveling too. No doubt it had sailed around the world three times, brushing all the coasts of Africa with its sides. But it was no use. The man and the whale met again, and one defeated the other. As I say, I myself have known of three such cases. In two of them, I saw the whales struck. After the second attack, I saw the two harpoons, with their respective marks cut into them, taken from the dead fish. In the three-year case, I was in the boat both times, the first and the last. The last time, I clearly recognized an unusual, huge mole under the whale’s eye. I had noticed it there three years earlier. I say three years, but I am pretty sure it was longer. So here are three cases that I personally know to be true. But I have heard of many others from people whose truthfulness in the matter there is no good reason to doubt.

Secondly: It is well known in the Sperm Whale Fishery, however ignorant the world ashore may be of it, that there have been several memorable historical instances where a particular whale in the ocean has been at distant times and places popularly cognisable. Why such a whale became thus marked was not altogether and originally owing to his bodily peculiarities as distinguished from other whales; for however peculiar in that respect any chance whale may be, they soon put an end to his peculiarities by killing him, and boiling him down into a peculiarly valuable oil. No: the reason was this: that from the fatal experiences of the fishery there hung a terrible prestige of perilousness about such a whale as there did about Rinaldo Rinaldini, insomuch that most fishermen were content to recognise him by merely touching their tarpaulins when he would be discovered lounging by them on the sea, without seeking to cultivate a more intimate acquaintance. Like some poor devils ashore that happen to know an irascible great man, they make distant unobtrusive salutations to him in the street, lest if they pursued the acquaintance further, they might receive a summary thump for their presumption.

Secondly: In the Sperm Whale Fishery, it is well known that certain whales have been recognized at different times and places. The world ashore may know nothing of this. There have been several memorable instances in the history of whaling. A whale did not become famous solely, or even originally, because its body was different from other whales. However unusual a whale’s body might be, the whalers soon put an end to its peculiarities. They killed the whale and boiled it down into a peculiarly valuable oil. No, the reason was that deadly encounters had given such a whale a terrible reputation for danger, like Rinaldo Rinaldini. So, when most fishermen spotted the whale lounging near them at sea, they were content to acknowledge him by touching their tarpaulin hats. They did not seek a closer acquaintance. They were like some poor devils ashore who happen to know a bad-tempered great man. They greet him discreetly from a distance in the street, lest he give them a swift punch for their presumption if they try to get closer.

But not only did each of these famous whales enjoy great individual celebrity—Nay, you may call it an ocean-wide renown; not only was he famous in life and now is immortal in forecastle stories after death, but he was admitted into all the rights, privileges, and distinctions of a name; had as much a name indeed as Cambyses or Cæsar. Was it not so, O Timor Tom! thou famed leviathan, scarred like an iceberg, who so long did’st lurk in the Oriental straits of that name, whose spout was oft seen from the palmy beach of Ombay? Was it not so, O New Zealand Jack! thou terror of all cruisers that crossed their wakes in the vicinity of the Tattoo Land? Was it not so, O Morquan! King of Japan, whose lofty jet they say at times assumed the semblance of a snow-white cross against the sky? Was it not so, O Don Miguel! thou Chilian whale, marked like an old tortoise with mystic hieroglyphics upon the back! In plain prose, here are four whales as well known to the students of Cetacean History as Marius or Sylla to the classic scholar.

Each of these famous whales enjoyed great individual celebrity. You might even call it ocean-wide renown. Each was famous in life and lives on in sailors’ stories after death. But each also enjoyed all the rights, privileges, and distinctions of having a name. Each had as much of a name as Cambyses or Cæsar. Wasn’t that true, O Timor Tom? You were the famous leviathan, scarred like an iceberg, who lurked so long in the Oriental straits named for you. Your spout was often seen from the palm-covered beach of Ombay. Wasn’t it true, O New Zealand Jack? You were the terror of all ships that crossed your path near the Tattoo Land. Wasn’t it true, O Morquan, King of Japan? They say your towering spout sometimes looked like a snow-white cross against the sky. Wasn’t it true, O Don Miguel? You were the Chilian whale with mysterious hieroglyphics on your back, like an old tortoise. To put it plainly, these four whales are as well known to students of Cetacean History as Marius or Sylla are to a scholar of the classics.

But this is not all. New Zealand Tom and Don Miguel, after at various times creating great havoc among the boats of different vessels, were finally gone in quest of, systematically hunted out, chased and killed by valiant whaling captains, who heaved up their anchors with that express object as much in view, as in setting out through the Narragansett Woods, Captain Butler of old had it in his mind to capture that notorious murderous savage Annawon, the headmost warrior of the Indian King Philip.

But this is not all. New Zealand Tom and Don Miguel had repeatedly caused great havoc among the boats of different vessels. At last, brave whaling captains set out to find them, systematically hunted them down, chased them, and killed them. The captains sailed with that express purpose in mind. They were just as determined as Captain Butler of old had been when he set out through the Narragansett Woods. He intended to capture the notorious murderous savage Annawon, the chief warrior of the Indian King Philip.

I do not know where I can find a better place than just here, to make mention of one or two other things, which to me seem important, as in printed form establishing in all respects the reasonableness of the whole story of the White Whale, more especially the catastrophe. For this is one of those disheartening instances where truth requires full as much bolstering as error. So ignorant are most landsmen of some of the plainest and most palpable wonders of the world, that without some hints touching the plain facts, historical and otherwise, of the fishery, they might scout at Moby Dick as a monstrous fable, or still worse and more detestable, a hideous and intolerable allegory.

I can think of no better place than here to mention one or two other things that seem important to me. Recorded in print, they establish that the whole story of the White Whale is reasonable in every respect, especially the catastrophe. For this is one of those disheartening cases where truth needs just as much support as error. Most people on land know so little about some of the world's plainest and most obvious wonders. Without some hints about the plain facts of whaling, both historical and otherwise, they might dismiss Moby Dick as a monstrous fable. Or, worse and more detestable still, they might dismiss it as a hideous and intolerable allegory.

First: Though most men have some vague flitting ideas of the general perils of the grand fishery, yet they have nothing like a fixed, vivid conception of those perils, and the frequency with which they recur. One reason perhaps is, that not one in fifty of the actual disasters and deaths by casualties in the fishery, ever finds a public record at home, however transient and immediately forgotten that record. Do you suppose that that poor fellow there, who this moment perhaps caught by the whale-line off the coast of New Guinea, is being carried down to the bottom of the sea by the sounding leviathan—do you suppose that that poor fellow’s name will appear in the newspaper obituary you will read to-morrow at your breakfast? No: because the mails are very irregular between here and New Guinea. In fact, did you ever hear what might be called regular news direct or indirect from New Guinea? Yet I tell you that upon one particular voyage which I made to the Pacific, among many others we spoke thirty different ships, every one of which had had a death by a whale, some of them more than one, and three that had each lost a boat’s crew. For God’s sake, be economical with your lamps and candles! not a gallon you burn, but at least one drop of man’s blood was spilled for it.

First: Though most men have some vague, passing ideas about the dangers of whaling, they have no clear, vivid picture of them. Nor do they understand how often those dangers arise. Perhaps one reason is that fewer than one in fifty whaling accidents and deaths is ever reported back home. And even those reports are brief and quickly forgotten. Suppose a poor fellow is caught by the whale-line off the coast of New Guinea at this very moment. The diving whale is dragging him down to the bottom of the sea. Do you suppose his name will appear in the newspaper obituaries you read at breakfast tomorrow? No, because mail service between here and New Guinea is very irregular. In fact, have you ever heard anything you could call regular news from New Guinea, directly or indirectly? Yet I tell you that on one of my many voyages to the Pacific, we spoke with thirty different ships. Every one of them had lost someone to a whale, and some had lost more than one person. Three had each lost an entire boat’s crew. For God’s sake, be economical with your lamps and candles! For every gallon of oil you burn, at least one drop of human blood was spilled.

Secondly: People ashore have indeed some indefinite idea that a whale is an enormous creature of enormous power; but I have ever found that when narrating to them some specific example of this two-fold enormousness, they have significantly complimented me upon my facetiousness; when, I declare upon my soul, I had no more idea of being facetious than Moses, when he wrote the history of the plagues of Egypt.

Secondly: People ashore do have a vague idea that a whale is an enormous creature with enormous power. But whenever I give them a specific example of both its size and its power, they knowingly compliment me on my sense of humor. Yet I swear on my soul that I was no more joking than Moses was when he wrote the history of the plagues of Egypt.

But fortunately the special point I here seek can be established upon testimony entirely independent of my own. That point is this: The Sperm Whale is in some cases sufficiently powerful, knowing, and judiciously malicious, as with direct aforethought to stave in, utterly destroy, and sink a large ship; and what is more, the Sperm Whale has done it.

But fortunately, I can establish my point with evidence that does not depend on my own testimony. The point is this: In some cases, the Sperm Whale is powerful, intelligent, and deliberately malicious enough to smash, completely destroy, and sink a large ship with premeditated intent. And what is more, the Sperm Whale has done it.

First: In the year 1820 the ship Essex, Captain Pollard, of Nantucket, was cruising in the Pacific Ocean. One day she saw spouts, lowered her boats, and gave chase to a shoal of sperm whales. Ere long, several of the whales were wounded; when, suddenly, a very large whale escaping from the boats, issued from the shoal, and bore directly down upon the ship. Dashing his forehead against her hull, he so stove her in, that in less than “ten minutes” she settled down and fell over. Not a surviving plank of her has been seen since. After the severest exposure, part of the crew reached the land in their boats. Being returned home at last, Captain Pollard once more sailed for the Pacific in command of another ship, but the gods shipwrecked him again upon unknown rocks and breakers; for the second time his ship was utterly lost, and forthwith forswearing the sea, he has never tempted it since. At this day Captain Pollard is a resident of Nantucket. I have seen Owen Chace, who was chief mate of the Essex at the time of the tragedy; I have read his plain and faithful narrative; I have conversed with his son; and all this within a few miles of the scene of the catastrophe.*

First: In 1820, the ship Essex, commanded by Captain Pollard of Nantucket, was cruising in the Pacific Ocean. One day, the crew saw whale spouts, lowered the boats, and chased a group of sperm whales. Before long, several whales were wounded. Then a very large whale suddenly escaped from the boats, left the group, and headed straight for the ship. He slammed his forehead against the hull, smashing it so badly that the ship sank and tipped over in less than “ten minutes”. Not a single plank of the ship has been seen since. After enduring terrible hardship, some of the crew reached land in their boats. When Captain Pollard finally returned home, he sailed for the Pacific again, commanding another ship. But the gods wrecked him again on unknown rocks and breakers. For the second time, his ship was completely lost. He immediately gave up the sea and has never risked sailing again. Captain Pollard now lives in Nantucket. I have seen Owen Chace, who was the chief mate of the Essex at the time of the tragedy. I have read his plain and faithful account, and I have spoken with his son. All this happened within a few miles of the scene of the disaster.*

*The following are extracts from Chace’s narrative: “Every fact seemed to warrant me in concluding that it was anything but chance which directed his operations; he made two several attacks upon the ship, at a short interval between them, both of which, according to their direction, were calculated to do us the most injury, by being made ahead, and thereby combining the speed of the two objects for the shock; to effect which, the exact manœuvres which he made were necessary. His aspect was most horrible, and such as indicated resentment and fury. He came directly from the shoal which we had just before entered, and in which we had struck three of his companions, as if fired with revenge for their sufferings.” Again: “At all events, the whole circumstances taken together, all happening before my own eyes, and producing, at the time, impressions in my mind of decided, calculating mischief, on the part of the whale (many of which impressions I cannot now recall), induce me to be satisfied that I am correct in my opinion.”

*The following are extracts from Chace’s account: “Every fact seemed to justify my conclusion that his actions were anything but chance. He attacked the ship twice, with only a short interval between attacks. Both attacks were directed to do us the most damage. He struck the ship from ahead, combining the speed of the whale and the ship for the impact. To do this, he had to make exactly the maneuvers he did. His appearance was most horrifying, and showed resentment and fury. He came directly from the shoal we had just entered, where we had struck three of his companions. He seemed driven by revenge for their suffering.” Again: “At any rate, all the circumstances together convince me that my opinion is correct. They all happened before my own eyes. At the time, they gave me the clear impression that the whale was intent on calculated mischief. I can no longer recall many of those impressions.”

Here are his reflections some time after quitting the ship, during a black night in an open boat, when almost despairing of reaching any hospitable shore. “The dark ocean and swelling waters were nothing; the fears of being swallowed up by some dreadful tempest, or dashed upon hidden rocks, with all the other ordinary subjects of fearful contemplation, seemed scarcely entitled to a moment’s thought; the dismal looking wreck, and the horrid aspect and revenge of the whale, wholly engrossed my reflections, until day again made its appearance.”

Here are his thoughts from some time after he left the ship. He was in an open boat on a dark night, almost despairing of reaching a welcoming shore. “The dark ocean and rising waters were nothing. I hardly gave a moment’s thought to being swallowed by a terrible storm or dashed against hidden rocks. All the other usual fears seemed hardly worth a moment’s thought either. The bleak wreck and the terrifying appearance and revenge of the whale filled my thoughts until daylight returned.”

In another place—p. 45,—he speaks of “the mysterious and mortal attack of the animal.”

In another place (p. 45), he describes “the animal’s mysterious and deadly attack.”

Secondly: The ship Union, also of Nantucket, was in the year 1807 totally lost off the Azores by a similar onset, but the authentic particulars of this catastrophe I have never chanced to encounter, though from the whale hunters I have now and then heard casual allusions to it.

Secondly: In 1807, the ship Union, also from Nantucket, was completely lost off the Azores after a similar attack. But I have never come across a reliable account of the disaster, although I have occasionally heard whale hunters mention it.

Thirdly: Some eighteen or twenty years ago Commodore J——, then commanding an American sloop-of-war of the first class, happened to be dining with a party of whaling captains, on board a Nantucket ship in the harbor of Oahu, Sandwich Islands. Conversation turning upon whales, the Commodore was pleased to be sceptical touching the amazing strength ascribed to them by the professional gentlemen present. He peremptorily denied for example, that any whale could so smite his stout sloop-of-war as to cause her to leak so much as a thimbleful. Very good; but there is more coming. Some weeks after, the Commodore set sail in this impregnable craft for Valparaiso. But he was stopped on the way by a portly sperm whale, that begged a few moments’ confidential business with him. That business consisted in fetching the Commodore’s craft such a thwack, that with all his pumps going he made straight for the nearest port to heave down and repair. I am not superstitious, but I consider the Commodore’s interview with that whale as providential. Was not Saul of Tarsus converted from unbelief by a similar fright? I tell you, the sperm whale will stand no nonsense.

Thirdly: About eighteen or twenty years ago, Commodore J—— was dining with a group of whaling captains. They were aboard a Nantucket ship in the harbor of Oahu, Sandwich Islands. At the time, the Commodore commanded a first-class American sloop-of-war. The conversation turned to whales. The Commodore chose to doubt the astonishing strength the whaling captains attributed to them. He flatly denied, for example, that any whale could strike his sturdy sloop-of-war hard enough to make it leak even a thimbleful. Very good, but there is more to come. Some weeks later, the Commodore set sail for Valparaiso in this impregnable vessel. But a hefty sperm whale stopped him on the way and begged a few moments of confidential business with him. The whale’s business was to give the Commodore’s vessel such a whack that he headed straight for the nearest port, with all his pumps running. There he could tilt the vessel onto its side for repairs. I am not superstitious, but I consider the Commodore’s meeting with that whale providential. Wasn’t Saul of Tarsus converted from unbelief by a similar fright? I tell you, the sperm whale will stand no nonsense.

I will now refer you to Langsdorff’s Voyages for a little circumstance in point, peculiarly interesting to the writer hereof. Langsdorff, you must know by the way, was attached to the Russian Admiral Krusenstern’s famous Discovery Expedition in the beginning of the present century. Captain Langsdorff thus begins his seventeenth chapter:

I will now refer you to Langsdorff’s Voyages for a relevant incident that is especially interesting to me. By the way, Langsdorff was part of Russian Admiral Krusenstern’s famous Discovery Expedition in the early years of this century. Captain Langsdorff begins his seventeenth chapter:

“By the thirteenth of May our ship was ready to sail, and the next day we were out in the open sea, on our way to Ochotsh. The weather was very clear and fine, but so intolerably cold that we were obliged to keep on our fur clothing. For some days we had very little wind; it was not till the nineteenth that a brisk gale from the northwest sprang up. An uncommon large whale, the body of which was larger than the ship itself, lay almost at the surface of the water, but was not perceived by any one on board till the moment when the ship, which was in full sail, was almost upon him, so that it was impossible to prevent its striking against him. We were thus placed in the most imminent danger, as this gigantic creature, setting up its back, raised the ship three feet at least out of the water. The masts reeled, and the sails fell altogether, while we who were below all sprang instantly upon the deck, concluding that we had struck upon some rock; instead of this we saw the monster sailing off with the utmost gravity and solemnity. Captain D’Wolf applied immediately to the pumps to examine whether or not the vessel had received any damage from the shock, but we found that very happily it had escaped entirely uninjured.”

“By May 13, our ship was ready to sail. The next day, we were out on the open sea, on our way to Ochotsh. The weather was clear and fine, but so unbearably cold that we had to keep wearing our fur clothing. For some days, we had very little wind. A brisk gale did not spring up from the northwest until the nineteenth. An unusually large whale lay almost at the surface of the water. Its body was larger than the ship itself. But no one on board saw the whale until the ship, under full sail, was almost upon it. By then, it was impossible to keep the ship from striking the whale. We were in immediate danger because the gigantic creature arched its back, lifting the ship at least three feet out of the water. The masts swayed, and the sails all fell. All of us below rushed onto the deck, thinking we had struck a rock. Instead, we saw the monster sailing away with the utmost gravity and solemnity. Captain D’Wolf immediately went to the pumps to check whether the shock had damaged the vessel. To our great relief, we found that it had escaped entirely unharmed.”

Now, the Captain D’Wolf here alluded to as commanding the ship in question, is a New Englander, who, after a long life of unusual adventures as a sea-captain, this day resides in the village of Dorchester near Boston. I have the honor of being a nephew of his. I have particularly questioned him concerning this passage in Langsdorff. He substantiates every word. The ship, however, was by no means a large one: a Russian craft built on the Siberian coast, and purchased by my uncle after bartering away the vessel in which he sailed from home.

Captain D’Wolf, mentioned here as the commander of the ship in question, is a New Englander. After a long life of unusual adventures as a sea captain, he now lives in Dorchester, near Boston. I have the honor of being his nephew. I have questioned him specifically about this passage in Langsdorff. He confirms every word. The ship, however, was by no means large. It was a Russian vessel built on the Siberian coast. My uncle bought it after trading away the vessel he had sailed from home.

In that up and down manly book of old-fashioned adventure, so full, too, of honest wonders—the voyage of Lionel Wafer, one of ancient Dampier’s old chums—I found a little matter set down so like that just quoted from Langsdorff, that I cannot forbear inserting it here for a corroborative example, if such be needed.

The voyage of Lionel Wafer is a vigorous, manly book of old-fashioned adventure, full of genuine wonders. Wafer was one of old Dampier’s companions. In the book, I found a passage much like the one just quoted from Langsdorff. I cannot resist including it here as a supporting example, if one is needed.

Lionel, it seems, was on his way to “John Ferdinando,” as he calls the modern Juan Fernandes. “In our way thither,” he says, “about four o’clock in the morning, when we were about one hundred and fifty leagues from the Main of America, our ship felt a terrible shock, which put our men in such consternation that they could hardly tell where they were or what to think; but every one began to prepare for death. And, indeed, the shock was so sudden and violent, that we took it for granted the ship had struck against a rock; but when the amazement was a little over, we cast the lead, and sounded, but found no ground. * * * * * The suddenness of the shock made the guns leap in their carriages, and several of the men were shaken out of their hammocks. Captain Davis, who lay with his head on a gun, was thrown out of his cabin!” Lionel then goes on to impute the shock to an earthquake, and seems to substantiate the imputation by stating that a great earthquake, somewhere about that time, did actually do great mischief along the Spanish land. But I should not much wonder if, in the darkness of that early hour of the morning, the shock was after all caused by an unseen whale vertically bumping the hull from beneath.

Lionel, it seems, was on his way to “John Ferdinando,” his name for what is now called Juan Fernandes. “On our way there,” he says, “our ship felt a terrible shock at about four in the morning. We were about one hundred and fifty leagues from the mainland of America. The shock so terrified our men that they could hardly tell where they were or what to think. Everyone began to prepare for death. Indeed, the shock was so sudden and violent that we assumed the ship had struck a rock. But once we had recovered a little from our astonishment, we lowered a lead weight to measure the depth. We found no bottom. * * * * * The sudden shock made the guns jump in their carriages and shook several men out of their hammocks. Captain Davis, who was lying with his head on a gun, was thrown out of his cabin!” Lionel goes on to blame the shock on an earthquake. He seems to support this explanation by saying that a great earthquake did considerable damage along the Spanish coast around that time. But I would not be very surprised if the shock had another cause. In the darkness of that early morning, an unseen whale may have bumped the hull straight up from below.

I might proceed with several more examples, one way or another known to me, of the great power and malice at times of the sperm whale. In more than one instance, he has been known, not only to chase the assailing boats back to their ships, but to pursue the ship itself, and long withstand all the lances hurled at him from its decks. The English ship Pusie Hall can tell a story on that head; and, as for his strength, let me say, that there have been examples where the lines attached to a running sperm whale have, in a calm, been transferred to the ship, and secured there; the whale towing her great hull through the water, as a horse walks off with a cart. Again, it is very often observed that, if the sperm whale, once struck, is allowed time to rally, he then acts, not so often with blind rage, as with wilful, deliberate designs of destruction to his pursuers; nor is it without conveying some eloquent indication of his character, that upon being attacked he will frequently open his mouth, and retain it in that dread expansion for several consecutive minutes. But I must be content with only one more and a concluding illustration; a remarkable and most significant one, by which you will not fail to see, that not only is the most marvellous event in this book corroborated by plain facts of the present day, but that these marvels (like all marvels) are mere repetitions of the ages; so that for the millionth time we say amen with Solomon—Verily there is nothing new under the sun.

I could give several more examples, known to me in one way or another, of the sperm whale’s great power and occasional malice. More than once, a sperm whale has chased attacking boats back to their ships. It has even pursued the ship itself, resisting for a long time all the lances thrown from its decks. The English ship Pusie Hall can tell a story about that. As for the whale’s strength, there have been cases where the lines attached to a fleeing sperm whale were transferred to the ship and secured there during a calm. The whale then pulled the ship’s great hull through the water, as a horse pulls a cart. It is also very often observed that, if a sperm whale is given time to recover after being struck, it acts with a deliberate intent to destroy its pursuers more often than with blind rage. And it says something eloquent about the whale’s character that, when attacked, it will often open its mouth and hold it in that terrifying position for several minutes at a time. But I must be content with just one more example, a remarkable and highly significant one. From it, you will surely see that plain facts of the present day support the most marvelous event in this book. You will also see that these marvels, like all marvels, are merely repetitions of what has happened through the ages. So, for the millionth time, we say amen with Solomon: truly, there is nothing new under the sun.

In the sixth Christian century lived Procopius, a Christian magistrate of Constantinople, in the days when Justinian was Emperor and Belisarius general. As many know, he wrote the history of his own times, a work every way of uncommon value. By the best authorities, he has always been considered a most trustworthy and unexaggerating historian, except in some one or two particulars, not at all affecting the matter presently to be mentioned.

Procopius was a Christian magistrate in Constantinople in the sixth century. He lived when Justinian was Emperor and Belisarius was general. As many know, he wrote a history of his own times. It is an exceptionally valuable work in every way. The most respected authorities have always considered him a highly reliable historian who did not exaggerate. They make an exception for one or two details, but these do not affect the matter about to be mentioned.

Now, in this history of his, Procopius mentions that, during the term of his prefecture at Constantinople, a great sea-monster was captured in the neighboring Propontis, or Sea of Marmora, after having destroyed vessels at intervals in those waters for a period of more than fifty years. A fact thus set down in substantial history cannot easily be gainsaid. Nor is there any reason it should be. Of what precise species this sea-monster was, is not mentioned. But as he destroyed ships, as well as for other reasons, he must have been a whale; and I am strongly inclined to think a sperm whale. And I will tell you why. For a long time I fancied that the sperm whale had been always unknown in the Mediterranean and the deep waters connecting with it. Even now I am certain that those seas are not, and perhaps never can be, in the present constitution of things, a place for his habitual gregarious resort. But further investigations have recently proved to me, that in modern times there have been isolated instances of the presence of the sperm whale in the Mediterranean. I am told, on good authority, that on the Barbary coast, a Commodore Davis of the British navy found the skeleton of a sperm whale. Now, as a vessel of war readily passes through the Dardanelles, hence a sperm whale could, by the same route, pass out of the Mediterranean into the Propontis.

In his history, Procopius mentions a great sea monster captured in the nearby Propontis, or Sea of Marmora. The monster was captured during his term as prefect of Constantinople. For more than fifty years, it had destroyed vessels from time to time in those waters. A fact recorded in a serious history cannot easily be disputed. Nor is there any reason to dispute it. Procopius does not say exactly what species the sea monster was. But since it destroyed ships, and for other reasons, it must have been a whale. I strongly suspect it was a sperm whale, and I will tell you why. For a long time, I thought the sperm whale had always been unknown in the Mediterranean and its connecting deep waters. Even now, I am certain that sperm whales do not habitually gather in those seas. And perhaps, under present conditions, they never can. But further investigation has recently shown me that individual sperm whales have appeared in the Mediterranean in modern times. I am told, on good authority, that Commodore Davis of the British navy found a sperm whale skeleton on the Barbary coast. A warship can easily pass through the Dardanelles. So a sperm whale could take the same route from the Mediterranean into the Propontis.

In the Propontis, as far as I can learn, none of that peculiar substance called brit is to be found, the aliment of the right whale. But I have every reason to believe that the food of the sperm whale—squid or cuttle-fish—lurks at the bottom of that sea, because large creatures, but by no means the largest of that sort, have been found at its surface. If, then, you properly put these statements together, and reason upon them a bit, you will clearly perceive that, according to all human reasoning, Procopius’s sea-monster, that for half a century stove the ships of a Roman Emperor, must in all probability have been a sperm whale.

As far as I can learn, none of the substance called brit, which feeds the right whale, is found in the Propontis. But I have every reason to believe that squid or cuttlefish, the sperm whale’s food, lurk at the bottom of that sea. Large creatures of that kind have been found at the surface, though by no means the largest. If you put these statements together and reason about them a little, you will clearly see what follows. By all human reasoning, Procopius’s sea monster was most likely a sperm whale. For half a century, the monster smashed the ships of a Roman Emperor.