"Alexander; you're not the first mate, Enoch Alexander, who sat on a dead whale all night, holding on to a lance staff, after losing your boat and crew?" "The same." "Why, I've heard Captain Burrows speak of you a thousand times." "But you were going to tell us about the 'Duncan McDonald.' Tell us the whole cruise from stem to stern." "Let's see, where shall I begin?" "At the very beginning," I put in. "Well, perhaps you've noticed, and perhaps you have not, but I'm not a sailor by inclination or experience. I accidentally went out on the 'Duncan McDonald.' How old would you take me to be?" "Fifty or fifty-five," said Enoch. "Thanks, captain, I know I must look all of that; but, let me see, forty-five, fifty-five, sixty-five, seventy--seventy--what year is this?" "Seventy-three." "Seventy-three. Well, I'm only twenty-eight now." "Impossible! Why, man, you're as gray as I am, and I'm twice that." "I was born in forty-five, just the same. My father was a sea captain in the old clipper days, and a long time after. He was in the West India trade when the war broke out, and as he had been educated in the navy, enlisted at once. It was on one of the gun-boats before Vicksburg that he was killed. My mother came of a well-to-do family of merchants, the Clarks of Boston, and--to make a long story short--died in sixty-six, leaving me considerable money. "An itching to travel, plenty of money, my majority, and no ties at home, sent me away from college to roam, and so one spring morning in sixty-seven found me sitting lazily in the stern of a little pleasure boat off Fort Point in the Golden Gate, listlessly watching a steam whaler come in from the Pacific. My boatman called my attention to her, remarking that she was spick-and-span new, and the biggest one he ever saw, but I took very little notice of the ship until in tacking across her wake, I noticed her name in gold letters across the stern--'Duncan McDonald.' Now that is my own name, and was my father's; and try as I would, I could not account for this name as a coincidence, common as the name might be in the highlands of the home of my ancestors; and before the staunch little steamer had gotten a mile away, I ordered the boat to follow her. I intended to go aboard and learn, if possible, something of how her name originated. "As she swung at anchor, off Goat island, I ran my little boat alongside of her and asked for a rope. 'Rope?' inquired a Yankee sailor, sticking his nose and a clay pipe overboard; 'might you be wantin' to come aboard?' "'Yes, I want to see the captain.' "'Well, the cap'en's jest gone ashore; his dingy is yonder now, enemost to the landin'. You come out this evenin'. The cap'en's particular about strangers, but he's always to home of an evenin'.' "'Who's this boat named after?' "'The Lord knows, stranger; I don't. But I reckon the cap'en ken tell; he built her.'