Part 1 (1/2)

The Boy With the U. S. Fisheries.

by Francis Rolt-Wheeler.

PREFACE

Treasure-s.h.i.+ps, bearing richer cargoes than any galleons that crossed the Spanish Main, still sail over the ocean to-day, but we call them fis.h.i.+ng smacks; heroism equal to that of any of the pioneer navigators of old still is found beneath oilskins and a sou'wester, but the heroes give their lives to gain food for the world instead of knowledge; and the thrilling quest of piercing the mysteries of life has no greater fascination than when it seeks to probe the unfathomed depths of that great mistress of mysteries--the Ocean. Just as to save life is greater than to destroy it, so is the true savior of the seas the Fisheries craft, not the battles.h.i.+p; so is the hatchery mightier than the fortress, the net or the microscope a more powerful weapon for good than the torpedo or the Nordenfeldt.

The Bureau of Fisheries for the United States Government, Mr. Chas.

Frederick Holder and his a.s.sociates for the anglers of America, and the st.u.r.dy and honorable cla.s.s of commercial fishermen are raising to the utmost of dignity and value one of the oldest and greatest of all industries. Not till the waste of waters is tamed as has been the wilderness of land will their work be done, and the Fisheries Bureau must ever remain in the forefront of such endeavor. To reveal the incalculable riches of this vast domain of rivers, lakes, and seas; to show the devotion of those whose lives are spent amid its elemental perils and to point out a way where courage, skill, and youth may find a road to serve America and all the world beside, is the aim and purpose of

THE AUTHOR.

THE BOY WITH THE U. S. FISHERIES

CHAPTER I

MAROONED BY A WHALE

”There she blows!”

Colin Dare, who was sitting beside the broken whale-gun and who had been promised that he might go in the boat that would be put out from the s.h.i.+p if a whale were sighted, jumped to his feet at the cry from the 'barrel' at the masthead.

”Where?” he shouted eagerly, rus.h.i.+ng to the rail and staring as hard as he could at the heaving gray waters of the Behring Sea.

”There she blo-o-ows!” again cried the lookout, in the long echoing call of the old-time whaler, and stretching out his hand, he pointed to a spot in the ocean about three points off the starboard bow. Colin's glance followed the direction, and almost immediately he saw the faint cloud of vapor which showed that a whale had just spouted.

”Do you suppose that's a whalebone whale, Hank?” asked the boy, turning to a lithe Yankee sea-dog with a scraggy gray beard who had been busily working over the mechanism of the whale-gun.

”No sayin',” was the cautious reply, ”we're too fur off to be able to tell yet a while. How fur away do you reckon we be?”

”A mile or two, I suppose,” Colin said, ”but we ought to catch up with the whale pretty soon, oughtn't we?”

”That depends,” the gunner answered, ”on whether the whale's willin' or not. He ain't goin' to stay, right there.”

”But you usually do catch up?”

”If it's a 'right' whale we generally try to, an' havin' steam to help us out makes a pile o' difference. Now, in the ol' days, I've seen a dozen whales to wind'ard an' we couldn't get to 'em at all. By the time we'd beaten 'round to where they'd been sighted, they were gone.”

”Well, I hope this is a 'right' whale,” Colin said with emphatic earnestness.

”Why this one 'specially?” the old sailor asked.

”I heard Captain Murchison say that if we came up with a whale while the gun was out of order, rather than lose a chance, he would send a boat out in the old-fas.h.i.+oned way.”

”An' you want to see how it's done, eh?”

”I got permission to go in the boat!” the boy answered triumphantly, ”and I just can't wait.”

”It's the skipper's business, I suppose, but I don't hold with takin'