We had to wait for the Clearchus, for the wind was light, and I thought that she never would get in. Captain Marshall did not wait for her to put her anchor over, but was pulled out and met her, leaving the Virginia with her anchor hove short, her sails loosed and hanging in the {293} clewlines, and the crew standing by to make sail. He went over the side of the Clearchus much more easily and gracefully than I did, and immediately went below with Captain Nelson. To my astonishment, I was hailed as one raised from the dead. It seems that nobody had seen me at the moment of my departure, and I had not been missed until some hours after the collision. Then the man who had been at the wheel recalled my yells, and they concluded that I had been knocked overboard. Of course it was then too late to look for me, as nobody could swim for four or five hours at the rate the Clearchus was going, small as that rate was. I laughed when I heard this explanation, but I made no comment. If they did not know, or had forgotten, that I could not swim at all, I would not bring up a painful subject. Peter and the Prince said nothing, but I was afraid that Peter’s smile would crack his leather cheeks. I was relieved from this embarrassing situation by the return to the deck of Captain Marshall, accompanied by Captain Nelson. Both captains looked pleased, especially Captain Nelson. They stopped for a moment to glance at the damage done, which was trifling, except for the loss of the boat. As this thought crossed my mind I looked up at the roof of the after house. There was no boat missing. They must have picked it up. I asked Peter, and he nodded, saying that it was unhurt. At that moment Peter and the Prince were called to their duty, and our anchor was let go. I sidled aft, to be within plain sight of Captain Marshall when he left. That was all I could do. He took no notice of me, but disappeared over the side. I was disappointed, and felt a sinking of the heart; but I had no reason to expect anything better. To him I was but one of the crew of the Clearchus, and a whaleman. Smart masters of smart ships have a profound contempt for whalemen as a class, because of their general slackness, I suppose, although those of them who really know feel {294} an equally profound respect for their venturesome spirit. Captain Marshall was the master of the smartest ship I have ever come across, and the condition of his vessel reflected the character of the master, as it always does. The impression I got of Captain Marshall, and the one I always retained, was that of a kind man—if you once got under his stiff crust of reserve and custom. I think that, at heart, he was sentimental, and was afraid that the crust might break and show his real nature. So he never forgot, but took every opportunity to harden and stiffen the crust; and he lavished a wealth of sentiment on his ship in secret.