244 Musings by Camp-Fire and Wayside 



Alaskan coast, all of a sudden put on their wigs — 

 very curious and interesting to look at, but both 

 unwelcome and ominous. I quote from my journal : 



"2 p.m. Line of fog visible across the mouth of Resur- 

 rection Bay, and the great rocks which stand in the sea are 

 putting on white night-caps — that means a heavy fog. 3 p.m. 

 A circle of it bends around the northeastern horizon. The 

 engine is set at half-speed. We are into it. The wheel 

 stops. We are gently rocking on the sea. The sun shines 

 down through the cloud, but everything is invisible 100 feet 

 away. It is a chilly and a very wet fog. We expected a fine 

 sight in entering Prince William's Sound— could see high 

 snowy mountains on Montague and the mainland. 6 p.m. 

 Everything about the ship is dripping. Casting the sound 

 line continually and blowing the fog-horn. 11 p.m. This 

 is the first time I have felt timid at sea. I know that we are 

 drifting, and we are close upon a rocky and dangerous coast, 

 of which there is no chart." 



That night Major Clarke and myself were sitting 

 with our backs against the smoke-stack, when sud- 

 denly we both sprang to our feet, exclaiming, "A 

 reef! We are on a reef!" "No, not a reef — 

 whales," came an answer. Two big fellows had 

 risen within twenty feet of the ship's side and were 

 making the sea boil. 



The fog-horn was sounded for echoes. After a 

 time of investigation the ship was turned about and 

 went off at full speed. We had drifted into a pocket, 

 leaving the cape back of us. There was a fog bank 

 back of us, but the ship turned confidently into it, 

 passed through it, and into sunshine beyond. We 

 rounded Cape Cleare, and one could see that it was 

 easily recognizable. We had a lively sea, a stiff 

 breeze, and a bright sun the rest of that day. The 



