Thus, although the four whales captured by the boats had been but small, the day’s take, augmented by so great a find, was a large one, and it was a long time before we got clear of the work it entailed.

From that time forward we saw no whales for six weeks, and, from the reports we received from two whalers we “gammed,” it appeared that we might consider ourselves most fortunate in our catch, since they, who had been longer on the ground than ourselves, had only one whale apiece.

In consequence of this information, Captain Slocum decided to go south again, and resume the sperm whaling in the North Pacific, near the line—­at least so the rumour ran; but as we never heard anything definitely, we could not feel at all certain of our next destination.

Ever since the fracas at the Bonins between Goliath and his watch, the relations between Captain Slocum and the big negro had been very strained.  Even before the outbreak, as I have remarked upon one occasion, it was noticeable that little love was lost between them.  Why this was so, without anything definite to guide one’s reasoning, was difficult to understand, for a better seaman or a smarter whaleman than Mistah Jones did not live—­of that every one was quite sure.  Still, there was no gainsaying the fact that, churlish and morose as our skipper’s normal temper always was, he was never so much so as in his behaviour towards his able fourth mate, who, being a man of fine, sensitive temper, chafed under his unmerited treatment so much as to lose flesh, becoming daily more silent, nervous, and depressed.  Still, there had never been an open rupture, nor did it appear as if there would be, so great was the power Captain Slocum possessed over the will of everybody on board.

One night, however, as we were nearing the Kuriles again, on our way south, leaving the Sea of Okhotsk, I was sitting on the fore side of the try-works alone, meditating upon what I would do when once I got clear of this miserable business.  Futile and foolish, no doubt, my speculations were, but only in this way could I forget for a while my surroundings, since the inestimable comfort of reading was denied me.  I had been sitting thus absorbed in thought for nearly an hour, when Goliath came and seated himself by my side.  We had always been great friends, although, owing to the strict discipline maintained on board, it was not often we got a chance for a “wee bit crack,” as the Scotch say.  Besides, I was not in his watch, and even now he should rightly have been below.  He sat for a minute or two silent; then, as if compelled to speak, he began in low, fierce whispers to tell me of his miserable state of mind.  At last, after recapitulating many slights and insults he had received silently from the captain, of which I had previously known nothing, he became strangely calm.  In tones quite unlike his usual voice, he said that he was not an American-born negro, but a pure African, who had been enslaved in