By dint of steady hard work we managed to get the last of our greasy work done in four days more, then faced with a will the job of stowing afresh the upper tiers of casks, in view of our long journey home.  The oil bought by the skipper on private venture was left on deck, secured to the lash-rail, for discharging at the Bluff, while our stock of water-casks were carefully overhauled and recoopered prior to being stowed in their places below.  Of course, we had plenty of room in the hold, since no ship would carry herself full of casks of oil; but I doubt whether, if we had borne a “Plimsoll’s mark,” it would not have been totally submerged, so deep did we lie.  Wooding and watering came next—­a different affair to our casual exercises in those directions before.  Provision had to be made now for a possible four or five months’ passage, during which we hoped to avoid any further calls, so that the accumulation of firewood alone was no small matter.  We cleared the surrounding neighbourhood of potatoes at a good price, those useful tubers being all they could supply us with for sea-stock, much to their sorrow.

Then came the most unpleasant part of the whole business—­for me.  It had been a part of the agreement made with the Kanakas that they were not to be taken home with us, but returned to their island upon the termination of the whaling.  Now, the time had arrived when we were to part, and I must confess that I felt very sorry to leave them.  They had proved docile, useful, and cheerful; while as for my harpooner and his mate Polly, no man could have wished for smarter, better, or more faithful helpers than they were.  Strong as their desire was to return to their homes, they too felt keenly the parting with us; for although they had unavoidably suffered much from the inclemency of the weather—­so different from anything they had ever previously experienced—­they had been kindly treated, and had moved on precisely the same footing as the rest of the crew.  They wept like little children when the time arrived for them to leave us, declaring that if ever we came to their island again they would use all their endeavours to compel us to remain, assuring us that we should want for nothing during the rest of our lives, if we would but take up our abode with them.  The one exception to all this cordiality was Sam.  His ideas were running in quite other channels.  To regain his lost status as ruler of the island, with all the opportunities for indulging his animal propensities which such a position gave him, was the problem he had set himself, and to the realization of these wishes he had determinedly bent all his efforts.