When the trying-out was over we made for the Japan grounds as straight as we could with the northeast trades directly ahead. Peter was still engaged in repairing the boat stove in the Java Sea. It was stove rather badly, every plank on the port side from the gunwale nearly to the garboard strake having to be replaced, and two broken ribs. Although Peter’s workmanship left a repaired boat almost as good as new—it would be better in some cases, but our boats had been made by Beetle, and were good boats—in spite of Peter’s workmanship, we had a good many cripples. If the rate of damage to boats increased, it seemed to me that we might find ourselves short. One fighting whale will sometimes reduce two or three boats to matchwood, quite beyond Peter’s skill. We were going where there was no source of supply, for what whale boats were scattered among the islands of the Pacific were mostly old boats, patched and painted over to hide the {300} patches; boats that the whalemen, who traded them to the natives, had no further use for. Still, I do not remember that I worried about it at the time. It is only since I got home—since I became middle-aged and timid, I suppose whalemen would say—that it has seemed to me short-sighted. We stood in fairly close to Formosa, and in that neighborhood we got one whale, a lone bull, which made no fight to speak of, although it was not like slaughtering a steer at Green’s or Pike’s. A pot of hot oil from him may have saved us; or, at any rate, it may have saved us a nasty fight. While we were trying-out, a small junk appeared from the direction of Formosa or the Chinese coast beyond. Nobody gave it a thought until it was close aboard, when it suddenly occurred to Captain Nelson, who happened to be on deck, that its actions were suspicious. I saw nothing suspicious about it except that it was almost near enough to throw a biscuit aboard—if anybody had wanted to waste a biscuit. The old junk was going along after the manner of junks, with six or seven men loafing on deck. We were hove to, and a great volume of black smoke was pouring from our try-works. As far as working the ship was concerned, we were helpless. If they wanted to board us, they could do it a dozen times over before we could get the Clearchus going. Captain Nelson watched the junk for a minute, then he spoke to Mr. Baker, who went at once among the men. The men left their work, and armed themselves with lances, harpoons, spades, and boarding-knives, but did not range themselves along the rail, for the captain was not sure, and he did not want to make himself a laughing-stock among other captains. I was watching the men, feeling little pricklings all over and my hair rising. Captain Nelson turned to me. “What ’you grinning about, Tim?” I had not been aware that I was grinning, but I was, from ear to ear. “Get the guns and revolvers from the cabin.” {301} “All of them, sir?” I asked, my voice shaking with excitement. “All you can carry.”