MY FIRST WHALE HUNT 



was again on the way out in order to reach the feed- 

 ing grounds shortly after daylight. 



I went aboard with Captain Balcom at ten o'clock 

 and turned in on the Mate's bunk. The cabin was 

 small, but not uncomfortable, and it was not long 

 before I was asleep. I did not even hear the ropes 

 being cast off in the morning and only waked when 

 the boy came down to call the Captain. We were 

 well down the Sound when I came on deck, and were 

 steaming swiftly along among little wooded islets half 

 shrouded in gray fog. Far ahead the ugly, foam- 

 flecked rocks of Cape Beale stretched out in a dan- 

 gerous line guarding the entrance to the Straits of 

 Juan de Fuca; beyond was a sheer wall of mist shut- 

 ting us out from the open sea. 



The Captain was sure it was only a land fog hang- 

 ing along the coastline, and that we would soon run 

 through it into clear air. As the ship rose to the 

 long swells of gray water and burrowed her way 

 straight ahead deeper and deeper into the mist, every- 

 one on deck was drenched and shivering. Fifteen 

 minutes of steaming at full speed and the gray cur- 

 tain began to thin; soon we ran out of it altogether. 



There was not a big sea running, but the little Orion 

 was dancing about like a cork. Balcom said, "It is 

 calm w r eather so long as she keeps her decks dry," 

 and with this rather dubious comfort I settled down 

 to get used to the tossing as best I could. 



Everything was intensely interesting to me, for it 

 was my first trip on a steam whaler. Already a man 

 had been sent aloft and was unconcernedly swinging 



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