“This place is almost as fine and beautiful as Tahiti, and many a whaler has touched here. In the early days both men and women would swim six or seven miles out to the incoming vessels. Things could be bought here cheap then, but the more civilized people become, the dearer everything is. The captain is bargaining for beef and pork, and it will be brought out in a native boat, a kind of lighter, this afternoon.” Again he ceased talking, looked thoughtful and sad, and then resumed: “You are thinking of home, Bleechly,—your mother, no doubt. When you get your letter, I hope you’ll find that all is well. There are many beautiful sayings like ‘A man’s best friend is his mother’ and ‘There is no place like home.’ But what shall we say of a man who has no mother and no home but a whaler?” He stopped abruptly and there was something in his face which led me to think that he didn’t want the question answered, and certainly it was plain that he did not propose to answer it himself. Ohoo appeared and broke forth, “Oh! Me so happy—my home, my home!—Me find my folk—no dead, all live! Look at sea. Me swim in him all round when me a boy. All my home.” Strange that Ohoo should touch with such joy on the subject which Lakeum had just dismissed with such a mournful air. I felt that the mate’s eyes were gathering dew and I fixed my gaze on the _Seabird_ at her anchorage. The rest of the crew came back, the captain last. In his hand were just a few letters. Recalling Lakeum’s words, I thought how true it was that the only home of most of our men was the dirty and dingy forecastle, and that they were to receive no remembrances from the land they had left. Captain Gamans was generally more inclined to be austere than sentimental. However, there was a touch of tenderness in what he said when he handed me a couple of letters. “Lucky you are, boy, to get them. Lucky that you had a home to come from and lucky you’ll be if you get back to it. I’ve no fault to find with you so far; and, if you keep on, you may get a captain’s berth, and I hope you will. But if I had my life over, I would stop with the first voyage and go to work on shore, even if I couldn’t get anything to do but shoveling dirt.” Pointing to a vessel anchored near by, the captain continued, “There’s a lot of disaster and misfortune in whaling. I’ve just learned about that ship. Almost no oil, crew deserted, big drafts. That’s what they call a broken voyage! Lucky are we with our ambergris.”