The sea was quite tranquil, we were sailing freely and there was silence. I knew that all Kreelman wanted was encouragement. “I have heard of that case,” I observed. “It was in 1842.” “How do you know?” “Oh, I’ve read about it.” “Well, readin’ ain’t always knowin’. When you hear a thing from a man who’s been there it’s first hand, and, when you get it out of a book, it’s second hand.” “Well,” I observed, “you had no objection, not long ago, to listen to stories I took from books.” Kreelman made no reply and on his own invitation told the story in his quaint way. “Well, you see, this _Sharon_ touched at an island where a number of the crew deserted, and she put to sea with only seventeen men all told. One day two boats were lowered for whales, and the captain, a Portuguese boy and three natives of the Kingsmill group of islands was left on board. They took a whale and the ship bore down and took him alongside, and then they trimmed the sails to prevent her forgin’ ahead. The boats were now after other whales. “Soon the signal flag of the ship at half-mast informed those in the boats that there was trouble on board and they put for the ship. When within hailin’ distance the boy, who was in the riggin’, called out that the natives had killed the captain and had control of the ship. One of the natives shook a cuttin’-spade at the men in the boats. Then he said somethin’ in his own language to the fourth native who was in one of the boats. They thought that he asked him to jump overboard and swim to the ship, but the man in the boat shook his head. Then the fellow on deck threw the cook’s axe and he aimed so good that the man in the boat only saved himself by dodgin’ it. “The mate was afraid that the savages would swing the yards and that the sails would catch the wind, so he called to the boy in the riggin’, ‘Cut the halyards of the upper sails on the mainmast and then go forward on a stay and cut ’em on the foremast.’ The boy done it, and then the boats got close together and the mates talked over what they’d better do. One said one thing, and another another. “Benjamin Clough, only nineteen years old, was third mate of the ship. Clough stood up in the bow of the first mate’s boat, picked up a lance and hurled it at a savage standin’ on the ship’s rail, but the warp was too short and the savage laughed at him. Then Clough said that, if the boy would cut loose the foreroyal stay and let it drop into the water from the end of the jib boom, he would swim to the ship with the warp of the lance in his mouth and fight the savages single-handed. The mate said, ‘All right,’ and they called to the boy, but he was weak from bein’ afraid and tired out, and couldn’t do it. The ship didn’t drift much, and they stayed in the boats till night come on.