be due to the exalted dignity of his position.  It hurt me to think he should be so changed, and I pondered at the peculiarities of mankind for many days.  After awhile, however, he became absorbed in a game of checkers with Mrs. Sackett which lasted two weeks.  Then I forgave him.  Whenever he saw Jennie and myself on deck, he would make haste to get through his business there, and dive below again.  This kindly interest on his part was kept up until we raised the Delaware Capes.

How good the land smelled, and how distinctly.  It seemed incredible that one could smell the land twenty miles away, almost before the color of the water began to change.  Yet it was strong in the nostrils; and even one of the pigs we had not eaten, but had brought back alive, squealed incessantly, as though instinctively feeling that the voyage was over.

It was late in the afternoon, but the men were mustered aft, in the time-worn way of merchant-men, to sign off.  Nearly all had bills on the slop-chest for tobacco or clothes.  As each went over the poop he gazed at the line on the western horizon and smiled gladly.  It meant a new life for more than one.  Among the last to go was the old landsman whom Trunnell had given a chance to earn his clothes by bug-hunting.  He smiled sadly at the setting sun over the dark line which meant home.  Then he shook out several strings of vermin, and holding them at arm’s length, stopped at the cabin window.  His cheap trousers failed to reach the tops of his coarse shoes, and the gap showed the skin on meagre ankles.  I was interested to know what he would take.

“What d’ye want?” asked Trunnell.

“I come for a yaller silk ban’kercheef,” said he, offering the strings.

“Don’t yer think ye’d better get some o’ them woollens?  It’ll be cold on the beach.”

“I got clothes a plenty.  I want a yaller silk ban’kercheef.  Yer got one, for Sam tole me so.  I’m a-goin’ ashore to Hennery’s, an’ I ain’t goin’ like no clown without a wipe.  Kin I have it?”

The handkerchief was passed out, and the old fellow went forward smiling.

What a strange thing is the end of a deep-water voyage!  Men who have been living together for months through suffering and hardship will go over the ship’s side with a cheery farewell.  They may meet for a few moments at the office to draw their pay, and then take a drink all around.  That is all.  They seldom see or hear of each other again.  The world goes on, and they drift about, taking what part in affairs Fate has in store for them.  One should come back aboard the ship the day after she makes her dock and look into the deserted forecastle and about the lonely decks, where so much has taken place, to realize man’s lonely mission.  The old ship-keeper, sitting alone smoking on the hatchway in the evening before unloading begins, will affront one with his presence.  Where are the men, rough, honest, coarse, or even bad, that used to sit there so often in the twilight of the dog-watch?  There is a strange yearning to see them again.  I watched the sun go down with a feeling of mingled joy and sorrow,—­joy for the return to the States, and sorrow for the parting which must soon take place between my shipmates.