There was no incident until we got within sight of Tahiti. I was leaning against the bench, watching Peter’s leisurely progress with the boat. This boat was the one which had been cut in two by the whale. The other one was finished, painted, and bottom up on the after house. Captain Nelson meant to trade all his spare boats, which had been stove, among the islands. Not that those boats were not good and seaworthy—Peter’s workmanship could not be other than that; but the captain seemed to think that they were more desirable for trading purposes than for chasing whales. I did not know about that, but there was no more chasing whales to be done on that voyage. Whaleboats were much in demand in all the islands, and would bring a good price in trade. So these boats, glistening in their coats of fresh paint, were put on the after house, and covered with an old sail to keep them from blistering in the hot sun. Peter had been saying nothing, but pottering pleasantly about his pleasant work, a half-smile on his leathery face. There was a fascination for me in watching Peter, and I had said nothing either. There is always a fascination in watching a thoroughgoing workman, but especially a boatbuilder or a shipbuilder or a blacksmith; a real smith, not merely a shoer of horses. It is so with me, at least, although there is almost as much in watching a really skilful cabinet-maker like Oman. I suppose the cabinet-maker’s work should possess more fascination, as such a man has progressed several grades beyond the others. Perhaps it is a little beyond me, or it may be because of my contempt for glue. A cabinet-maker uses a deal of glue. Peter looked up at last, and glanced ahead. When he {344} looked down at his work again his half-smile had broadened into a grin. “There ’s Tahiti, lad,” he said. I nodded. “Yes, I know. There ’s nothing to see yet.” Peter was bending over his work, and he gave a queer chuckle. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “You never can tell what you may see until you look. You might see an old friend, Timmie. A real sailor always knows what shows above the horizon, and sometimes what ’s beyond, if it ain’t too far.” This speech of Peter’s nettled me a little, for I thought I was a real sailor by this time. I looked around carefully. It was pretty clear, with occasional heavy clouds, and deep shadows under them. There was one such cloud away down to the northward, and I thought that I saw a vessel in its shadow. The clouds were moving briskly, and as I watched, the sun suddenly shone there, and illumined the topsail yards of a schooner and the upper half of her lower sails. It was like a spotlight in a theatre, suddenly shoving the vessel into plain view against the shadows which surrounded her. There was but one such rig in all the seven seas. It was the Annie Battles. She had left Papeete within an hour, probably, and was standing to the northward. I sighed. “Just our luck,” I said. “If she had only been a few hours later!”