“That Wallet,” he said at last, “ ’s got more sense than I gave him credit for. You see, Tim, if it ’s desertion, which is more ’n likely, and if we ever get hold of him {170} again, he ’ll say that he was kidnapped by that crew of pickpockets. It ’d be hard to prove ’t he was n’t, and it would n’t make much difference whether anybody believed it or not. If we don’t get him—and I should think that the old man ’d be glad to be rid of him—we ’ll never know the rights of it, or what ’ll be done about his lay in our take so far. I don’t know what course the—Aye, aye, sir.” For Mr. Baker’s boat was called away, and Peter ran. Captain Nelson himself took the boat, and the men pulled hard for the Battles; but her mainsail was already up, and they got the foresail up and broke out a jib, and she stood off on the wind before the boat had gone half a mile. It was hopeless to chase her, and Captain Nelson came back. He was very sober and stern as he came over the side, and we watched the square topsails of the Battles gradually sinking to the eastward, while we got ready to receive Mr. Brown and his whale. As soon as the cutting-in and trying-out was finished we made sail, and headed for Montevideo. It was within a couple of days of Christmas, and the men hoped for some liberty ashore. Captain Nelson was governed by other reasons in making for port; he wanted to send letters, as it turned out, chiefly on account of the mysterious behavior of the Battles, and the desertion of Wallet, I suppose, although I never knew definitely. He let it be known that any letters would be sent, and I wrote home, but by a piece of carelessness of my own, my letter did not go. We did not get into Montevideo by Christmas, as we had been more than three hundred miles from the coast; and we had to be content with the usual ship’s fare on that day, with the addition of plum duff and a serving of rum. I did not take the rum, of course, but I took the duff, which tasted good enough, although it was nothing more than soggy dumpling, with molasses over it. I could {171} not help thinking of my mother’s dumplings—food of a different species—and of the turkey and cranberry sauce, and the pumpkin and apple pies, and the apples and nuts and raisins to which my family were sitting down on that day. No doubt they were thinking of me. At Montevideo, which we reached in the afternoon of the twenty-sixth, the captain sent his letters and tried to ship another man. This he was unable to do, and he had to sail without him, a man short. The men were disappointed in their hoped-for liberty, only one boat’s crew getting two hours’ liberty. This crew was chosen with some care, as the men must be those who could be relied upon to return at the end of their two hours. We sailed at sunset, with some grumbling on the part of the men.