As we neared home, Kreelman began to take an interest in my welfare—no longer with sharp words and in a haughty manner, but rather as a father gives counsel to a son.
“Fancy Chest,” he said, “I come from poor folks back in the country, so I thought I would like to follow the sea. I was a young fellow when I reached New Bedford and shipped on a whaler, and in a few years I’ll be an old man. I’ve been on the sea a good part of my life, and I don’t know nothin’ but salt water. Now what have I made out of it? Mighty little. I’ve never spent the little that was comin’ to me, but put it by for old age. I haven’t any home or any friends, and all my folks is dead. I shall ship on whalers so long as they’ll let me, and I may die on shipboard and be buried at sea, but it doesn’t matter whether on land or sea. Now what are you goin’ to do, Fancy Chest—follow the sea or stick to the land and do somethin’ else?”
“The sea looks pretty attractive to me. I was warned before I left home that the foremast hand got very little out of a voyage. Every one on this vessel is going to get a little fortune, and why shouldn’t I follow the sea?”
“You forget,” Kreelman rejoined, “that the ambergris is a good part of our catch, and you might sail the seas a hundred years without seeing another pound of it. I suppose you hope to be a captain some day, but it’s a long road before you get there. Then, if you marry, you are away from your home about half of your life. Remember that all voyages are not successful. If you stick to the sea you’ll never have a voyage that begins to equal this one. Then there’s another thing. I suppose you think this crew are just like the crew of any other vessel. No, they ain’t. Except gettin’ rid of that fellow at the Azores, this voyage of ours has run as smooth as oil. If you go on another voyage, it may be worse than bedlam.”
Kreelman’s counsel set me to thinking, and as the days went by I weighed the advantages and disadvantages of a whaleman’s life. Then I thought of my mother—how hard it was for her to give me up, and how it pained her to part with me. I was still young, only in my eighteenth year, and the world was all before me. Then and there I determined to say to my mother at our meeting that one voyage was enough, and that I would seek employment on the land.
Days passed, and as we neared home the Civil War was a constant subject of conversation. We had, of course, no definite information, so we indulged in conjecture. Late one day we saw smoke many miles astern of us, and we assumed that it came from a burning ship or from a steamer. The smoke increased in volume, and we soon saw that the object, which was apparently pursuing us, was a steamer. Some one said it might be a cruiser. From this inadvertent remark grew the general belief that it was a cruiser. It would soon be dark, and word was given to wet the sails. The water was passed up in buckets and the men worked diligently. The hope was that the darkness would protect us, but that hope was soon abandoned, for our supposed pursuer was fast gaining upon us. After capture the oil would be burned with the ship, but what should be done with the ambergris? It was suggested by some one that it be cut up into small pieces and concealed upon our persons, but there was not time enough to resort to that expedient. Nearer and nearer came the great black object, belching out its clouds of smoke. There was nothing on our part but resignation and also reflection on a wonderful voyage ending in collapse and ruin. When within half a mile of us the steamer veered, and in a short time passed us. They must have seen the old whaler, but she was too insignificant for recognition. The reaction brought relief, and the relief was followed by laughter.
On the last day of April we sighted Block Island, and soon a pilot boat made for us. When the pilot boarded us he called out to the captain,
“What’s your ambergris worth?”
“How’d you know about that?” asked the captain.
“Why, all New Bedford is talkin’ about it. They say there’s more interest taken in your voyage than in any other since whalin’ begun. You’ll have a lot of visitors when you drop anchor.”