

Dec. 14, 1907.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
929 



tas set in to make up for the very fine weather 
hat prevailed while we were cutting in the 
vhales. 
It is welcome to most of us, for we are all 
naving a rest, and we need it. The capture of 
lhe whales is royal sport, but from the time 
lhey are alongside until the oil is stored below 
|lecks, there is nothing but the most miserably 
laard work. I have done harder work and can 
stand it, so long as I can feel that I can get 
cid of it once in a while, but this labor that is 
lsoupled with a complete saturation in grease 
jwith no chance to get it off, until the job is 
|lone, penetrates my marrow. During the work, 
jif we do have a chance to snatch a few minutes’ 
isleep, we drop down almost anywhere in our 
loily habiliments and drift into an unconscious- 
ness that is deserved. And yet the next electric 
lcry of “blow’s,” “blo-o-o0-o-’s,” “ah blo-o-0-w’s” 
lwill send a thrill of enthusiasm through the 
ship. The captain goes to the masthead to see 
for himself, and then comes a rapid string of 
orders—obeyed with the utmost alacrity, for 
everybody is on the jump. Then at last, as 
we near the school, comes the order, “Get the 
|boats ready,” followed by a hustling of line 
tubs, shipping of rudders, loading and arrang- 
ing of darting guns, all of us in the meanwhile 
kicking off our shoes and relieving ourselves 
of surplus garments as we get a chance, for if 
we get stove, as often happens and as pretty 
near came to being the case with the last whale 
we caught—we want to be in swimming trim. 
| All hands buckle on sharp sheath knives to 
lbe used should the line foul any of us. 
| Meanwhile, the loft men continue to cry out 
| their prolonged “Blo-o-o-w’s” every time a 
spout shows up, giving the men on deck an 
/idea of their number. 
“Lower away,” the captain sings out from 
his lofty perch, and after designating the tactics 
to be followed by each boat, we make off for 
‘the fray, under sail if possible, and as we get 
about to where the monsters are rolling and 
snorting in the water, we urge the boat on 
with paddles, for all the world like Indians, 
and creeping up to half the boat’s length of 
the beast, who is unconscious of danger, the 
| harpooneer darts his two irons. There is a mighty 
splash and roar of water about us—and the 
|rest is a problem, one to be solved by hard 
work and agility at the very peril of our lives. 
But I like it, and when I get at home again, I 
shall read books of adventure with a greater 
zest than ever. 
These fishers that I am with are very simple 
minded. Once in one of our unprofitable 
chases, the harpooneer, who stood against the 






A SCHOOL OF SPERM WHALES, 
mast uttering ejaculations, as the whales al- 
ways eluded us, cried out, “Look at heem. 
Look at heem. Oh! if God only helps me, I 
will put this iron right een hees back.” I men- 
tioned to him that I thought that the poor 
whale might have a God, too, which occurred 
to him to be very probable. 
At another time while we were cutting in, the 
big mate told me that the whale had a re- 
ceptacle in his head that contained fresh water. 
This of course led me to speculate on its origin 
and use, which seemed to annoy the mate. Al 
don’t know anything about it,” he said. “God 
made it so and He makes all things right.” 
These men are entirely unlettered, for they can 
neither read or write, but they have a good 
understanding of nature, as the sea teaches 
them, and that is enough, as far as they are 
concerned. 
The ship is pitching heavily. 
stand fastened to the wall by a strip of brass, 
so that I will know where it is when I want 
to dip my pen, and I myself am jammed in a 
corner, braced so that I can write. 
It is nearing 8 o’clock, and I must prepare 
to stand my watch until midnight, which 
means rubber boots, oilskins, etc., to battle the 
rains and kindred elements. 
June 19.—There isn’t much to say for the 
last two days, except that the storm has sub- 
sided and we are enjoying a heavenly repose— 
a rest from whales and the turbulence of air 
and water. 
The captain has unfolded a plan to get letters 
from home, and I am hoping to get one. We 
all feel rather good over the prospect, for it 
will shorten the voyage a great deal, this hear- 
ing from the world that we have left behind us. 
We are on the lookout for more whales, and 
I hope that we shall not be as entirely success- 
The chase is great 
I have my ink- 
ful as we were last time. 
fun. but the work on the blubber is the most in- 

THE THREE-MASTER THAT TOOK OUR LETTERS HOME. 
consistently awkward work that I ever engaged 
in. It almost destroys the point of view that 
I ought to entertain toward the whole process, 
and thereby make me the same as the un- 
ambitious beings that I am with. It takes 
courage of a heroic quality to work hard all 
night without any respite or refreshment and 
yet maintain your equipoise and not become 
disgusted and give up. 
June 20.—You can see by the numerous com- 
plaints that I have made about the work, that 
I am not in love with it, though I did not mean 
to repeat myself so. We put some letters on 
a homeward bounder to-day. The understand- 
ing was through the ship that the next letters 
were to tell of a place to receive same, but that 
has been posponed for a week or so. This is 
a novel thing for me, for in the merchant 
service, that I am so accustomed to, the chance 
of sending home letters never happens, because 
of the lack of practice and facility in getting 
down and manning a boat—a thing that we, as 
whalemen, are peculiarly expert in. It matters 
not how rough and stormy it is, our boats can 
always go down in safety. What a fine thing 
it would be if the ocean liners that carry such 
huge human freights, could have such, men as 
ours to man the life boats? I venture to say 
that there would not be such awful records of 
loss of life, for most catastrophies are the re- 
sult of clumsiness and _ inefficiency. I would 
like to have the opportunity of rescuing a ship’s 
company with our boats’ crews, just to show 
them what can be done. I didn’t speak from a 
vainglorious standpoint, but from that of abso- 
lute knowledge. : 
There is not such a plentitude of bird life as 
when we first came out, and I imagine that 
there has been a migration to the Northland. 
It makes the sea seem comparatively lonely, but 
the petrels are still faithful, and their recent feeds 
of nice morsels of blubber have led them to 
think that we are a pretty good thing, and so 
they hang on to us. That is something like 
some human traits, isn’t it? 
June 22.—Yesterday morning was beautifully 
calm, and at sunrise, just as we had begun to 
wash down the deck, as is usual on every morn- 
ing under ordinary cirsumstances, a Cry of 
“Blows, blo-o-o-ws; put the boats in the water,” 
and a start’'was made under sail and paddle for 
a large “school” not far off. 3ut they were 
going from us, so after a while the oars were 
chased them about ten miles. 
shy, as the noise of the oars 
there is no 
shipped, and we 
They were quite 
disturbed them 
better way than 
breeze, and that 
the second mate’s boat struck a small bull, and 
somewhat, for 
to sail on them with a good 
not to be Finally 
was had. 

