A Year With A Whaler 



CHAPTER I 



THE LURE OF THE OUTFITTER 



WHEN the brig Alexander sailed out of 

 San Francisco on a whaling voyage a 

 few years ago, I was a member of her 

 forecastle crew. Once outside the Golden Gate, 

 I felt the swing of blue water under me for the 

 first time in my life. I was not shanghaied. 

 Let's have that settled at the start. I had 

 shipped as a green hand before the mast for the 

 adventure of the thing, because I wanted to go, 

 for the glamor of the sea was upon me. 



I was taking breakfast in a San Francisco 

 restaurant when, in glancing over the morning 

 paper, I chanced across this advertisement: 



Wanted — Men for a whaling voyage; able 

 seamen, ordinary seamen, and green hands. 

 No experience necessary. Big money for a 

 lucky voyage. Apply at Levy's, No. 12 Wash- 

 ington Street. 



Until that moment I had never dreamed of 



II 



