Skin Boat of the Siberian Eskimos 240 A YEAR WITH A WHALER 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 Washington Street. Until that moment I had never dreamed of going to sea, but that small "ad." laid its spell upon my imagination. It was big with the lure of strange lands and climes, romance and fresh experiences. What did it matter that I had passed all my humdrum days on dry land? "No experience necessary!" There were the magic words staring me in the face. I gulped down my eggs and coffee and was off for the street called Washington. Levy's was a ship's outfitting store. A "runner" for the house--a hulking man with crafty eyes and a face almost as red as his hair and mustache--met me as I stepped in the door. He looked me over critically. His visual inventory must have been satisfactory. I was young. "Ever been a sailor?" he asked. "No." "Makes no difference. Can you pull an oar?" "Yes." "You'll do. Hang around the store to-day and I'll see what vessels are shipping crews." That was all. I was a potential whaler from that minute. A young working man in overalls and flannel shirt came in later in the day and applied to go on the voyage. He qualified as a green hand. But no spirit of adventure had brought him to Levy's. A whaling voyage appealed to his canny mind as a business proposition. "What can we make?" he asked the runner. "If your ship is lucky," replied the runner, "you ought to clean up a pile of money. You'll ship on the 190th lay. Know what a lay is? It's your per cent. of the profits of the voyage. Say your ship catches four whales. She ought to catch a dozen if she has good luck. But say she catches four. Her cargo in oil and bone will be worth about $50,000. Your share will amount to something like $200, and you'll get it in a lump sum when you get back."