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It is time my fellow-travellers and I should part company. But I
have been requested by a great many persons to give some account
of the subsequent history of the vessels and their crews, with
which I had made them acquainted. I attempt the following sketches
in deference to these suggestions, and not, I trust, with any
undue estimate of the general interest my narrative may have
created.
Something less than a year after my return in the Alert, and when,
my eyes having recovered, I was again in college life, I found one
morning in the newspapers, among the arrivals of the day before,
``The brig Pilgrim, Faucon, from San Diego, California.'' In a few
hours I was down in Ann Street, and on my way to Hackstadt's
boarding-house, where I knew Tom Harris and others would lodge.
Entering the front room, I heard my name called from amid a group
of blue-jackets, and several sunburned, tar-colored men came
forward to speak to me. They were, at first, a little embarrassed
by the dress and style in which they had never seen me, and one of
them was calling me Mr. Dana; but I soon stopped that, and we were
shipmates once more. First, there was Tom Harris, in a
characteristic occupation.
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