Contents

CHAPTERPAGE
IIn Which My Cousin and I Have a Serious Falling Out[7]
IIIn Which is Shown the Result of a Bad Beginning[15]
IIIIn Which I Am Anxious to Learn the Particulars of a Matter of Fourteen Years Standing[22]
IVIn Which Ham Mayberry Reveals His Suspicions[34]
VIn Which the Old Coachman Goes Somewhat Into Details[43]
VIIn Which is Related a Conversation With My Mother[49]
VIIIn Which I Put Two and Two Together—and Sleep Aboard the Wavecrest[57]
VIIIIn Which an Expected Comedy Proves to Be a Tragedy[65]
IXIn Which I See the Day Dawn Upon a Deserted Ocean[72]
XIn Which I Find a Most Remarkable Haven[82]
XIIn Which I Am a Terrified Witness of a Wonderful Phenomenon[92]
XIIIn Which I Find Myself Bound For Southern Seas[107]
XIIIIn Which Tom Anderly Relates a Story That Arouses My Interest[119]
XIVIn Which I Hear For the First Time the Whaler’s Battle-Cry[133]
XVIn Which We “Strike on”[142]
XVIIn Which There is Some Information and Much Excitement[150]
XVIIIn Which I Come Very Near Going Out of the Story[159]
XVIIIIn Which We Realize the “Grind” of the Whaleman’s Life[164]
XIXIn Which is Reported a Series of Misadventures[172]
XXIn Which our Chapter of Bad Luck is Continued[180]
XXIIn Which the Wavecrest Sets Sail Again[186]
XXIIIn Which We Sail the Silver River and I See a Face I Know[193]
XXIIIIn Which I Begin to Wonder “Is it Me, Or is it Not Me?”[198]
XXIVIn Which I Get Acquainted with Captain Adoniram Tugg[208]
XXVIn Which I Follow the Beckoning Finger of a Spectre[215]
XXVIIn Which the Sea Spell Goes Ashore on a Most Unfriendly Coast[222]
XXVIIIn Which We Find the Natives More Unfriendly Than the Coast[232]
XXVIIIIn Which are Related Several Disappointments[239]
XXIXIn Which I Am Not the Only Person Surprised[245]
XXXIn Which I At Last Set My Face Homeward with Determination[253]

Swept Out to Sea
or
Clint Webb Among the Whalers

Chapter I

In Which My Cousin and I have a Serious Falling Out

The wind had died to just a breath, barely filling the canvas of the Wavecrest. We were slowly making the mouth of the inlet at Bolderhead after a day’s fishing. Occasionally as the fitful breeze swooped down the sloop made a pretty little run, then she’d sulk, with the sail flapping, till another puff came. I lay in the stern with my hand on the tiller, half asleep, while Paul Downes, my cousin, was stretched forward of the mast, wholly in dreamland. A little roll of the sloop as she tacked, almost threw him into the water and he awoke with a snarl and sat up.

“For goodness sake! aren’t we in yet?” he demanded, crossly. “What you been doing for the last hour Clint Webb? We’re no nearer the inlet now than we were then, I swear!”

That was a peculiarity about Paul. He was addicted to laying the faults of even inanimate objects to the charge of other people; and as for himself personally, he was never in the wrong! Now he felt that he must have somebody on whom to vent his vexation—and hunger; I was used to being that scapegoat, and it was seldom that I paid much attention to his snarling. On this particular occasion, I said, calmly: