The Clearchus was an old ship, and had single topsails—not divided into upper and lower topsails, as they were on all of the later vessels. It made an enormous sail, clumsy and hard to handle. When they had the foretopsail reefed and the men had come down, Smith came aft. Captain Nelson was waiting for him. “My man,” he said very sternly and quietly, “you have disobeyed orders again. I warn you for the third time—and the last time. The next time I shall act, and suddenly. You ’ll do well not to let the next time happen. Not a word from you!” he added, for Smith was about to speak. “Go forward!” Smith turned—smiling, I guessed, when his back was turned to the captain—and went forward. My heart was in my throat for a few minutes. Anything might have happened. I had dim forebodings as I turned in that night, picturing to myself a repetition of what happened on the Junior, and I lay awake for some time. I do not know that I was frightened; rather, I think, it was the elation with which I anticipated a fight, and it was excitement which kept me awake. I had my mind made up to stay awake all night, but it takes a good deal to keep a healthy boy awake all night when he is in the open air all day, with the wind from thousands of miles of ocean blowing upon him, and when I awoke with a start it was daylight. Everything was serene when I got on deck. The wind was high from the southwest, with an occasional screeching gust; but the sky was clear, the sun showed bright, and the Clearchus slogged along, pitching and rolling. I had my model with me, for I was as anxious to show it and have it admired as a child with a new toy. Indeed, that was exactly what I was. {264} In these various exhibitions two hours passed. At the end of that time I found myself with Starbuck and the Prince standing by the starboard rail, just forward of the gangway. They saw Peter, called to him, and he joined us. Starbuck had the model in his hand, turning it from side to side, and gazing at it soberly. “ ’T would have more beauty,” Peter observed, “if ’t was a model of the Annie Battles. I should like to carve one of the Battles.” “It has beauty enough,” said Starbuck thoughtfully. “How long is it since we ’ve seen the Battles?” “Nigh on to a year,” Peter replied, counting up the months. “We ’d almost forgotten her. Most of the crew ’s clean forgotten.” “I have n’t,” said Starbuck. “I ’ve always wondered what happened on the Battles—what happened to Fred Coffin. I ’m sure enough that something did.” Peter agreed with him, and the Prince grunted. I, for a wonder, said nothing. At that instant the cry came down from the masthead, “Land, ho!” It took a sailor to understand that cry; to others it would have been as unintelligible as a brakeman’s cry of the name of a station.