Читать книгу Gold Hunting in Alaska онлайн

13 страница из 59

There are plenty of birds to be seen now. If I had faith enough to warrant my walking on the water I would go shooting. Our small boats are all lashed to the dock of the "Penelope," but the captain says that in a few days we can put a skiff overboard if it is calm, and then ho! for murre pot-pie! Everyone is hungry for fresh meat. We try fishing with no luck. Saw a fur seal to-day, the first in two weeks.

A Sunbath on Deck.

June 19. Bering Sea, latitude 63 degrees, longitude 172 degrees, 38 minutes.—For the past few days we made good time, one hundred miles to the day, but on this date we are becalmed. Clyde has gone out in the boat to catch a snap shot of us. He need not hurry, for never was mouse more still than the "Penelope" at this moment. The thermometer registers 38 degrees on deck. We have sighted no ice yet, and hope the Bering Straits are open.

I am sitting in the galley, as my fingers get too cold to write outside. We have just cleared off supper, and the boys are pacing the deck for exercise. Some of them are below, where an oil stove in each cabin takes the chill and dampness from the air. It is seldom that the galley is not crammed full, but just now the cook and the others have gone below for a game of whist, so I embrace the opportunity to write. My diary is always written after I have finished my daily bird notes, which I make as copious as possible. I have some good records already. We were becalmed three days in sight of the Prybiloff Islands, and at the time were so close to St. Paul Island that we could hear the barking of thousands of seals, and, by the aid of a field glass, could see them on the beaches. A few were seen about the "Penelope," and one came so near to the boat that it was touched with an oar. We unlashed the smallest boat and rowed out with her during the calmest days, so we had some much-needed exercise. Frequent fogs kept us near the "Penelope's" side, as we should easily become lost. We saw no ducks or geese, but we had murres in plenty and pot-pie for several days. For a change they were served up in roasts, being first boiled, and were finer than any duck I have tasted, though some of the squeamish crew composing the "Crips' Union" declared they were "fishy."