Well, we kept our course until, I verily believe, another plunge would have cut us sheer in two halves.  At the last moment our helm was put hard down, bringing our vessel right up into the wind at the same moment as the helmsman on board the other vessel caught sight of us, and instinctively put his helm down too.  The two vessels swung side by side amidst a thunderous roar of flapping canvas, crackling of fallen spars, and rending of wood as the shrouds tore away the bulwarks.  All our davits were ripped from the starboard side, and most of our bulwarks too; but, strangely enough, we lost no spars nor any important gear.  There seemed to be a good deal of damage done on board the stranger, where, in addition, all hands were at their wits’ end.  Well they might be, aroused from so criminal a sleep as theirs.  Fortunately, the third mate had powerful bull’s-eye lantern, which in his watch on deck he always kept lighted.  Turning it on the stern of the delinquent vessel as she slowly forged clear of us, we easily read her name, which, for shame’s sake as well as for prudential reasons, I withhold.  She was a London ship, and a pretty fine time of it I had for the next day or two, listening to the jeers and sarcasms on the quality of British seamanship.

Repairing damages kept us busy for a few days; but whatever of thankfulness we were capable of feeling was aroused by this hairbreadth escape from death through the wicked neglect of the most elementary duty of any man calling himself a seaman.

Then a period of regular Western-ocean weather set in.  It was early spring in the third year since our departure from this part of the world, and the north-easter blew with bitter severity, making even the seasoned old captain wince again; but, as he jovially said, “it smelt homey, n’ he warn’t a-goin’ ter growl at thet.”  Neither were any of us, although we could have done with less of a sharp edge to it all the same.

Steadily we battled northward, until at last, with full hearts, we made Cape Navesink ("Ole Neversunk"), and on the next day took a tug and towed into New Bedford with every flag we could scare up flying, the centre of admiration—­a full whale-ship safe back from her long, long fishing round the world.

My pleasant talk is done.  I wish from my heart it were better performed; but, having done my best, I must perforce be content.  If in some small measure I have been able to make you, my friendly reader, acquainted with a little-known or appreciated side of life, and in any wise made that life a real matter to you, giving you a fresh interest in the toilers of the sea, my work has not been wholly in vain.  And with that fond hope I give you the sailor’s valedictory—­

So long!