Yves has come up with the men of the larboard watch who have just been awakened. I recognize at once his way of whistling which I had not heard now for a year. And presently I recognize his voice which rings out in command for the first time on the deck of the _Primauguet._ Then I call him very officially by the title which has just been restored to him: "Master of the Watch." It was only to shake him by the hand, to wish him good luck and good night before I went to bed. [Footnote 5: The regulation order. On board the crew is divided into a number of groups, each forming a gun's crew. The master-gunner and the loaders escort the men of their group and awaken those who replace them for the watch.] CHAPTER LXXXV "Haul away there, Goulven!" It was a difficult boarding. I had come, in a cutter from the _Primauguet_, to examine a suspicious-looking whaling ship, which showed no flag. In the southern ocean, still; near the Isle of Tonga, and to windward of it. The _Primauguet_ itself was anchored in a bay of the island, within the line of reefs, in the shelter of a coral bank. The whaler lay off-shore almost in the open sea, as if in readiness for flight, and the swell was heavy about her. I had been sent with a party to reconnoitre her, to "speak" to her as we say in the navy. "Haul away there, Goulven! Haul!" I looked up at the man who was called Goulven; he was the one, who, on the deck of the equivocal craft, held the rope which had just been thrown to me. And I was struck by his face, by his familiar look: he was another Yves, not so young, more sunburnt and more athletic perhaps--harsher in feature, as one who had suffered more--but he was so like him in the eyes, in the expression, that he looked to me like his double. I had sometimes thought that we might come across this brother Goulven, on one of these whaling boats which we found, now and then, in the anchorages of the southern seas, and which we "spoke" to when we did not like their look. I went straight to him, without worrying about the captain, who was a huge American, headed like a pirate, with a long, thick, seaweed-like beard. I entered there as on conquered territory and etiquette mattered little to me. "So it's you, Goulven Kermadec?" And I advanced towards him holding out my hand, so sure was I of his identity. But he, for his part, paled under his tan, and shrank back. He was afraid. And I saw him, in an instinct of uncivilized man, clenching his fists, stiffening his muscles, as if prepared to resist to the utmost, in a desperate struggle. Poor Goulven! The surprise of hearing me call him by his name--and then my uniform--and the sixteen armed sailors who accompanied me, had been too much for him. He thought that I had come in the name of the law of France, to seize him, and, like Yves, he became exasperated under the threat of force.