The attempt was again put into operation to start some 6 or 7 days later, with fresh provisions and all boats in good repair, we pulled out to seas one morning at dawn, and you may be very sure that I critically eyed the bottom of our boat for many miles until my interests were attracted to something that was strangely new to me. My trouble for the the first 8 or 10 miles was barking my knuckles on the handle of the oar. I was unable to space the ends and row with any speed or power. For a good many days, about 10 o’clock in the forenoon, my hands although hard, form the late harvest field, began to pain is if blistered. This was a great surprise to me, as my hands had not blistered very easily, at anytime and especially not after the hard work I had previously done. Now with the insides blistered and the skin bruised on the backs and becoming wet as often as they did by my dipping and missing splashing salt water, attempting to row, nearly put me below. I suppose it would be foolish to say that my back began now to ache, until I thought I would have to give up to save my life. But I had a sort of an old bulldog sicktoitiveness inherited from my grandfather, who had never laid down in all his 80 years, regardless of his work, so I would shift my seat and duck into it. But I certainly was suffering. I wonder where we would stop for lunch and how the other fellows, who sat behind me was fairing. By the dip of his oars I imagined he was growing tired. When I was on the point of calling a halt, as my hands were becoming almost to[o] tender to grasp the oar, Jack came forward and asked to spell me a mile or so. That I look about fagged, I spiritly replied, I was as tired as ever, but ravishingly hungry, so while he took my place, I rummaged through the chest, which there was one, in each boat on long pulls, containing a cold lunch. I believe I never enjoyed straight bread and cold meat as I had now. Before I had eaten my sandwich, we pulled up to the other two boats who had stopped to wait our coming and enquire into the welfare of everyone and discuss lunch. I was not the only one tired and hungry. We lay gently swinging with the long smooth glassy swells and ate our well earned lunch. We had now traveled about half our distance and from now on we had considerable of a point to round before we came into the little harbor we were making for. The wind which as a rule spring up early in the P.M. Began now to blow gently from the north-west and increased in strength as we progress. Our progressing became slower and rougher as we were facing directly into it. As we neared Gordo Point, we swung into the coast or beach to avoid the chop out side.
We pulled abreast the point about 4 in the afternoon and the point gave back to us a cross chop which was most difficult to make a progress in. We were at least 1 hour rounding this place. The distance probably was something like 2 miles but we safely rounded it and leaving the chop it now became less difficult to row. We arrives at the landing about 6 o’clock, beaching our boats without an<d> accident. I was thankful beyond measure to step ashore. While some of the boys unloaded the boats others were preparing supper. Just before sundown, we had eaten and made camp and tired was I. Sand makes a very heavy bed and know of nothing as hard as sand to lie on. But this night I never woke, until called for breakfast. I was so sore and stiff the next day I was <allmost> out of commission. The third day we set out down the coast a foot to investigate a lave herd of sea-lions which we had noticed on our way up several days before. It was a tramp of 4 or 5 miles but the walking was good, until we got opposite the point where they had been seen. But now, as we were several hundred feet above the water’s edge the descent was strewn with boulders of all shapes and sizes, a sort of trail lead down which was extremely steep, we carried among us several rifles, and it was no child’s works getting down to the beach. But we be accustomed to roughing it in all <manner> of bad places, at last found ourselves at the bottom of the cliff and within 200 yards of an<d> immense herd of all sizes of these animals.
The males were said to weigh as much as 1 ton, of which we saw several. The rock on which they lay was perhaps 150 yards from shore, flat on the top, over which the waves occasionally broke but on the whole was a excellent place for sun bathing which they seemed to be very fond of. Among the herd were scores of young about the size of an ordinary cow and look a great like one. The old sea-lions are of a tawny color, but the young are coal black and are <rear> on shore until several months old, when the females commence training them in the art of swimming. It is an interesting scene to watch this process. They are helped out to this flat rock by the older ones, when they can swim but, a little and after an effect almost human, a great deal of maneuvering is gone through with getting them up on to the rock. The water is swarming with the young, all eagerly clambering to get up but this feat they can not accomplish along without the aid of either the mother lion or the swells. About every 6 or 7 swell which rolled shoreward, is always much larger than the others and these swells are the ones which carry, if it is extra large. The rocks, now the mothers who are swimming among the young seem to know it is of no use to try, helping up the babies until assisted by the water, so they <swam> and <loiter> until these two or three large swell come and then business commences!
They swim to and from assisting the young over the edge mount up on the rock and a more interesting <proformance> I have never seen. In order to observe this, we had to be cautious as they are very shy and have a <quiet> <and> sharp eye.
Some even saw us as we descended the cliff side. It took time for use to sneak and look to out footing, as well, to get within rifle range of this rookery. The frightened ones quickly slide into the water., but presently returned.
After observing their antics for an hour or more, one of the boys prepared to try a shot at some of the larger males. He met with a strong plea for mercy from the rest of the crowd, but he <insist> so strong for just one shot, that we finally consented to let him try just one. He singled out one very large bull, and his shot was true to the mark. The great yellow monster reared high in the air and barking loudly fell backward into the water, we could see him floundering in a whirlpool of bloody sea foam. He kept this up probably 2 or 3 minutes, then struck straight out to sea, followed by and angry school of males, who scenting the blood followed, and overtaking him, we concluded by the terrific fight we could just see far out at sea, that he was killed by his mates and eaten.
Our shot put to flight every one on the rock and it was at least an hour and a half before they became bold enough to come back. It was now growing late in the afternoon and we were about as hungry as we could be and have pep enough for our return tramp back to camp, so we turn ourselves toward home arriving tired and very hungry, but well paid for our day’s absence.