We’re homeward bound, oh, happy sound! Good-by, fare ye well, Good-by, fare ye well! Come, rally the crew and run quick around, Hurrah, my bullies, we’re homeward bound! We’re homeward bound, may the winds blow fair, Good-by, fare ye well, Good-by, fare ye well! Wafting us true to the friends waiting there, Hurrah, my bullies, we’re homeward bound! In a couple of weeks we began to see whales, and lowered several times, but they eluded us. When we reached the Rio de la Plata, we captured a sperm whale that boiled down sixty barrels. Imbedded in the body was a harpoon which had evidently been there for a long time. It had become so rusted that we could not discover a trace of the owner’s or ship’s name. I always took an interest in trophies and asked Lakeum if I might have it. My request was granted, and the rusty old reminder of the lost art of whaling is still in my possession. As we neared home, Kreelman began to take an interest in my welfare—no longer with sharp words and in a haughty manner, but rather as a father gives counsel to a son. “Fancy Chest,” he said, “I come from poor folks back in the country, so I thought I would like to follow the sea. I was a young fellow when I reached New Bedford and shipped on a whaler, and in a few years I’ll be an old man. I’ve been on the sea a good part of my life, and I don’t know nothin’ but salt water. Now what have I made out of it? Mighty little. I’ve never spent the little that was comin’ to me, but put it by for old age. I haven’t any home or any friends, and all my folks is dead. I shall ship on whalers so long as they’ll let me, and I may die on shipboard and be buried at sea, but it doesn’t matter whether on land or sea. Now what are you goin’ to do, Fancy Chest—follow the sea or stick to the land and do somethin’ else?” “The sea looks pretty attractive to me. I was warned before I left home that the foremast hand got very little out of a voyage. Every one on this vessel is going to get a little fortune, and why shouldn’t I follow the sea?” “You forget,” Kreelman rejoined, “that the ambergris is a good part of our catch, and you might sail the seas a hundred years without seeing another pound of it. I suppose you hope to be a captain some day, but it’s a long road before you get there. Then, if you marry, you are away from your home about half of your life. Remember that all voyages are not successful. If you stick to the sea you’ll never have a voyage that begins to equal this one. Then there’s another thing. I suppose you think this crew are just like the crew of any other vessel. No, they ain’t. Except gettin’ rid of that fellow at the Azores, this voyage of ours has run as smooth as oil. If you go on another voyage, it may be worse than bedlam.”