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  • That same afternoon, I took my comrade down to the Battery; and we sat on on_f the benches, under the summer shade of the trees.
  • It was a quiet, beautiful scene; full of promenading ladies and gentlemen; an_hrough the foliage, so fresh and bright, we looked out over the bay, varie_ith glancing ships; and then, we looked down to our boots; and thought what _ine world it would be, if we only had a little money to enjoy it. But that'_he everlasting rub—oh, who can cure an empty pocket?
  • "I have no doubt, Goodwell will take care of you, Harry," said I, "he's _ine, good-hearted fellow; and will do his best for you, I know."
  • "No doubt of it," said Harry, looking hopeless.
  • "And I need not tell you, Harry, how sorry I am to leave you so soon."
  • "And I am sorry enough myself," said Harry, looking very sincere.
  • "But I will be soon back again, I doubt not," said I.
  • "Perhaps so," said Harry, shaking his head. "How far is it off?"
  • "Only a hundred and eighty miles," said I.
  • "A hundred and eighty miles!" said Harry, drawing the words out like a_ndless ribbon. "Why, I couldn't walk that in a month."
  • "Now, my dear friend," said I, "take my advice, and while I am gone, keep up _tout heart; never despair, and all will be well."
  • But notwithstanding all I could say to encourage him, Harry felt so bad, tha_othing would do, but a rush to a neighboring bar, where we both gulped down _lass of ginger-pop; after which we felt better.
  • He accompanied me to the steamboat, that was to carry me homeward; he stuc_lose to my side, till she was about to put off; then, standing on the wharf,
  • he shook me by the hand, till we almost counteracted the play of the paddles;
  • and at last, with a mutual jerk at the arm-pits, we parted. I never saw Harr_gain.
  • I pass over the reception I met with at home; how I plunged into embraces,
  • long and loving:—I pass over this; and will conclude _my first voyage_ b_elating all I know of what overtook Harry Bolton.
  • Circumstances beyond my control, detained me at home for several weeks; durin_hich, I wrote to my friend, without receiving an answer.
  • I then wrote to young Goodwell, who returned me the following letter, no_pread before me.
  • _"Dear Redburn—Your poor friend, Harry, I can not find any where. After yo_eft, he called upon me several times, and we walked out together; and m_nterest in him increased every day. But you don't know how dull are the time_ere, and what multitudes of young men, well qualified, are seeking employmen_n counting-houses. I did my best; but could not get Harry a place. However, _heered him. But he grew more and more melancholy, and at last told me, tha_e had sold all his clothes but those on his back to pay his board. I offere_o loan him a few dollars, but he would not receive them. I called upon hi_wo or three times after this, but he was not in; at last, his landlady tol_e that he had permanently left her house the very day before. Upon m_uestioning her closely, as to where he had gone, she answered, that she di_ot know, but from certain hints that had dropped from our poor friend, sh_eared he had gone on a whaling voyage. I at once went to the offices i_outh-street, where men are shipped for the Nantucket whalers, and mad_nquiries among them; but without success. And this,_ I _am heartily grieve_o say, is all I know of our friend. I can not believe that his melanchol_ould bring him to the insanity of throwing himself away in a whaler; and _till think, that he must be somewhere in the city. You must come dow_ourself, and help me seek him out."_
  • This! letter gave me a dreadful shock. Remembering our adventure in London,
  • and his conduct there; remembering how liable he was to yield to the mos_udden, crazy, and contrary impulses; and that, as a friendless, penniles_oreigner in New York, he must have had the most terrible incitements t_ommitting violence upon himself; I shuddered to think, that even now, while _hought of him, he might no more be living. So strong was this impression a_he time, that I quickly glanced over the papers to see if there were an_ccounts of suicides, or drowned persons floating in the harbor of New York.
  • I now made all the haste I could to the seaport, but though I sought him al_ver, no tidings whatever could be heard.
  • To relieve my anxiety, Goodwell endeavored to assure me, that Harry mus_ndeed have departed on a whaling voyage. But remembering his bitte_xperience on board of the Highlander, and more than all, his nervousnes_bout going aloft, it seemed next to impossible.
  • At last I was forced to give him up.
  • *****
  • Years after this, I found myself a sailor in the Pacific, on board of _haler. One day at sea, we spoke another whaler, and the boat's crew tha_oarded our vessel, came forward among us to have a little sea-chat, as i_lways customary upon such occasions.
  • Among the strangers was an Englishman, who had shipped in his vessel a_allao, for the cruise. In the course of conversation, he made allusion to th_act, that he had now been in the Pacific several years, and that the goo_raft Huntress of Nantucket had had the honor of originally bringing him roun_pon that side of the globe. I asked him why he had abandoned her; he answere_hat she was the most unlucky of ships.
  • "We had hardly been out three months," said he, "when on the Brazil banks w_ost a boat's crew, chasing a whale after sundown; and next day lost a poo_ittle fellow, a countryman of mine, who had never entered the boats; he fel_ver the side, and was jammed between the ship, and a whale, while we wer_utting the fish in. Poor fellow, he had a hard time of it, from th_eginning; he was a gentleman's son, and when you could coax him to it, h_ang like a bird."
  • "What was his name?" said I, trembling with expectation; "what kind of eye_id he have? what was the color of his hair?"
  • "Harry Bolton was not your brother?" cried the stranger, starting.
  • _Harry Bolton!_
  • It was even he!
  • But yet, I, Wellingborough Redburn, chance to survive, after having passe_hrough far more perilous scenes than any narrated in this, _My First Voyage_
  • —which here I end.