Ten minutes dragged by; then, without a sound of warning, the floor of the ocean seemed to rise and a mountainous black body, dripping with foam, heaved upward almost over our heads. It paused an instant, then fell sideways to be swallowed up in a vortex of green water. With the camera ready in my hands I stared at the thing. It might have been an eruption of a submarine volcano or a waterspout; I would as soon have thought of photographing either. Even the nerves of Sorenson, the harpooner, were shaken and he clung weakly to the gun without a move to use it. The whale had dropped back scarcely twenty feet away; if it had fallen in the other direction the vessel would have been crushed like an eggshell beneath its forty tons of weight. Never since then have I known of a whale breaching so close to a ship, although they have frequently come out within a hundred and fifty feet. A few days later we had sighted a lone bull humpback early in the afternoon and for two hours had been doing our utmost to get a shot. The whale seemed to know exactly how far the gun was effective and would invariably rise just out of range. Once he sounded forty fathoms ahead and, as I stood waiting near the gun platform with the camera ready, suddenly the water parted directly in front of us and with a rush which sent its huge body five feet clear of the surface the whale shot into the air, fins wide spread, and fell back on its side amid a cloud of spray. I was watching for the animal on the starboard bow but managed to swing about with the camera and press the button just before he disappeared. Although the photograph was hardly successful, nevertheless it is interesting as being the only one yet taken of a breaching humpback; it shows the whale breast forward falling upon its right side. Humpbacks probably breach in play and sometimes an entire school will throw their forty-five-foot bodies into the air, each one apparently trying to outdo the others. For some reason the humpbacks of Alaska and the Pacific coast seem to breach much more frequently than do those in Japan waters. This species is the most playful of all the large whales—one of the reasons why to me they are the most interesting. Breaching is probably their most spectacular performance but what the whalers call “lobtailing” is almost as remarkable. The animal assumes an inverted position, literally standing upon its head, and with the entire posterior part of the body out of the water begins to wave the gigantic flukes back and forth. The motion is slow and measured at first, the flukes not touching the water on either side. Faster and faster they move until the water is lashed into foam and clouds of spray are sent high into the air; then the motion ceases and the animal sinks out of sight. There is considerable variety to the performance, the whale sometimes pounding the water right and left for a few seconds and then going down. [Illustration: