The wind came from the southwest and we made good time, soon reaching the Elizabeth Islands and then passing into the bay. We anchored at about the place from which we had sailed nearly three years before. The sharks at sea were quick to gather round the carcass of a whale; so were the gentlemen on land, of the same name, quick to gather on the deck of our vessel. These were the visitors the pilot referred to. One of them shook me vigorously by the hand, remembered me perfectly, was sure he had fitted me out before I sailed, and would do the right thing by me now, if I would go to his shop.
“You are mistaken,” I declared. “You didn’t fit me out. My outfitter was a woman.”
“A woman!” he exclaimed.
“Yes,” I said, “my mother.”
Just then some one tapped me on the shoulder. I turned and beheld my old friend, the shipkeeper. How delighted we were to meet again! How pleasant it was to hear that my parents were well!
“Bleechly,” he remarked, “don’t have anything to do with the outfitters. Our boat is going up soon, and we’ll take you and your chest along. By the way, how did you like Lakeum?”
“Fine. I pulled the stroke oar in his boat.”
“Yes, he is a fine man,” said the shipkeeper, thoughtfully. “It’s rare indeed that you find a man like him on a whaler.”
The captain and officers went with us in the boat. Glad as I was to be home again, I felt some regret in parting from the old vessel, scarred from the battles with wind and wave and reeking with grease and oil. I gave Lakeum a pressing invitation to go home with me and meet my parents, but he courteously declined. He showed feeling when I thanked him for his kindness to me during the voyage. I ordered the chest sent up to the house and walked briskly myself, so as to anticipate its arrival.
Of my meeting with my parents and of the assurance conveyed to my mother that I had done with the sea, I propose to say nothing. Happy was our home and delighted was my mother with the things I brought her—the handiwork of the South Sea islanders, and of the inhabitants of Pitcairn. That evening all the boys I had ever known, including my old classmates, crowded into the house and made a hero of me. All the articles I had brought were scanned and handled as if they were precious and invaluable. Strange and ridiculous questions were asked, which I answered with great dignity and with solemn demeanor. The ambergris was, of course, the subject of animated discussion. Its value naturally was greatly exaggerated, one boy putting it at a million dollars. Then the watch was taken up, and all kinds of questions were asked as to its make and value. These I could not answer, because I had not received it. When the boys took their departure, most of them said that they were going to sea. My mother smiled and observed that their parents would have something to say upon the matter.