It is a curious thing how people go out of your life. Here was Mr. Brown, who, alone of the officers, had admitted me to intimacy. I had become very fond of him; and he dropped out as suddenly and as completely as if he had fallen overboard. I do not like it. It is not right, I cannot reconcile myself to it, and I have never been able to understand it. For years I kept expecting to see him, but it is not likely now, for he would be nearly eighty, and probably he is dead long ago. He left the ship at once upon her arrival in New Bedford, and vanished. Why? I wish I knew. I found, upon inquiry, that his share of the voyage—his lay—was sent to an address in New York. I wrote, but nothing was known of him, and that ended the chapter. Peter I did see again. He became a frequent and welcome visitor at my father’s house, and later at my own. Ann McKim liked him, and she, my father, my mother, and Peter spent many an evening in going over the events of the voyage, a chart spread out, and all four heads bent over it. I sat back in the shadows and watched them. But I am getting ahead of my story. There is not much more to tell, so have a little patience, and it will be over. I was still in a sort of daze when I got aboard of the Battles, and she began to drop the Clearchus. I watched the old ship, with all sail set, sink below the horizon. When I could no longer make out even her topgallant yards, I turned, and went slowly below. I was to bunk in the cabin, I found, as Assistant Navigator, a totally {359} unnecessary berth. Captain Coffin had two of the mates of the John and Alice, both good navigators, and he was a good navigator, of course; but there was room in the cabin for four, and he, in the kindness of his heart, gave the fourth berth to me. Before we got home I was made third mate, which was simply ridiculous. Probably Captain Coffin wished to make it easy for me to get a third mate’s berth on another voyage, which was kind and thoughtful. The Annie Battles was much overmanned, with a total of twenty-eight men, leaving forty-two on the Clearchus. With so many men there was not much for any one to do, although we managed to keep the men busy enough. The run home was without incident worthy of remark. We reached Cape Horn in January, the middle of the southern summer, and had no great difficulty and no more bad weather than is always met there. In the cabin, as I was, although not yet a mate, I could not chum with Jimmy, who was before the mast, and I found it rather a lonesome berth. There was nothing for me to do but attend to my duties, which were light, and watch the schooner sail. She was a very fast and easy vessel, and very wet in a sea; but she was not in the same class as the Virginia, Marshall, master. If I had not had that experience I should have enjoyed the Battles more. But I missed the discipline, the trimness, the everlasting rightness of the Virginia. Having seen that, nothing less would ever satisfy me completely.