The Golden Harpoon Or Lost Among the Floes A Story of the Whaling Grounds

Excerpt: On the morning of the 25th day of April 18— the whale-ship Montpelier of New London anchored in one of the many bays that open along the coast of Kamschatka where it is washed by the waters of the Sea of Ochotsk. As soon as every thing was made snug alow and aloft the skipper rubbed his hands with complacency and a satisfied expression was seen to cross even the face of Mr. Briggs the first mate who was the ship’s grumbler. “Good quarters” remarked the captain. “Ay ay sir” responded Briggs “the tide is easy here and I don’t think a gale would hurt us much—we are so shut in by the cliffs. But” he suddenly added turning his glance toward a large field of ice about a league from the shore “I don’t like the looks of yonder floe. It may come upon us and give us a jam.” “It will drift past us” replied the captain; “the current tends to the north’ard.” “I’m not so sure of that” said the mate as he snatched a glass from the mizzen fife-rail and directed it toward the ice. “Them undercurrents up this way sometimes plays the very smash. But if I ain’t much mistaken I see a bear moving along the floe.” As he spoke he passed the glass to his companion who immediately lifted it to his eye. “Do you see the animal captain?” “Ay ay there it is sure enough; a brown bear I believe.” “Uncle!” exclaimed a gentle voice at this instant and a light hand fell upon the captain’s shoulder. “How wild! how picturesque! What place is this?”