were with him the only 'hanimals that have souls worth saving.' Well, there stood Sterry preparing to 'pucker,' and pucker he did. A strange sound, which arrested my attention, stole out of his mouth. Startled, I listened attentively, and found him actually whistling for the porpoises! But no porpoise seemed to listen to his charm. Often did he poise his harpoon as his intended victim glided swiftly through the waters beneath him, but as often did he have to drop it again. At length the porpoises retired, and Sterry had to give up his game.
"When the attempt was over, I asked Captain B if Sterry's whistling really did any good, and the reply was, as I expected, 'No, none whatever.' Sterry at the time was within hearing, and immediately said, 'I guess-it-didn't-do-much-of-any-harm-any-how-captain;' and then, turning to me, added, 'Captain Hall' (so he always called me), 'I tell you what it is. Before you have been up North a great while, you'll find you've got to whistle as many whistles as there are species of hanimals, birds, and fishes, or you can never get along up there; you can never capture such things unless you do whistle.'
"'But,' said I, 'please to tell me, Mr. Sterry, what do you do when you see a whale?' 'Oh, then we always holler,' was his quaint reply."
I have mentioned this anecdote as characteristic of the man. He was frequently the life and soul of our party, and often I shall have occasion to allude to him.
On the 12th of June we passed through a fleet of codfishing schooners on the Banks of Newfoundland. Hundreds of boats were out, with a man in each, rapidly appearing and disappearing to our view as the fog, which was very thick, lifted, or as we neared them.
The next day preparation was made, and a close look-out kept for icebergs, the thermometer having fallen rapidly; but none were seen. Two whales, however, caused some interest in our vessel, and especially to myself. They were moving leisurely along in the same direction as the ship, and nearly
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