The old man was dancing about on the dock, hitching his trousers up so often that Bob remarked he would wear them out in a short time at that rate. His one eye was rolling about trying to see in half a dozen directions at once.
“Can’t do any harm to learn what he wants,” Ned replied. “Put her over, Jerry.”
Accordingly the _Dartaway_ was steered toward the dock, on which there were quite a number of persons. Several were getting boats ready to go off and get a view of the big creature.
“Steady now, my hearties!” exclaimed the old sailor. “That’s the way to do it! Couldn’t have done it any better myself!” as Jerry brought the boat up alongside of the dock without hitting the string piece.
“Sure, son, I want you to take me out so we can kill that whale. Shiver my timbers, but it’s like old times again!”
Then, rolling up his sleeves and disclosing two very hairy and much tattooed arms he sang in a high, quavering voice:
“I’ve traveled in the North sea. I’ve traveled in the South. I’ve killed a whale With the biggest tail And the smallest kind of a mouth!”
“That’s me! That’s Salt Water Sam!” he went on. “Now boys, if you wait a minute I’ll go after my harpoon and line, and we’ll have a whale chase as is a chase.”
Before the boys could reply, the old sailor ran from the dock toward a little shanty that stood on the beach. When he was gone Jerry asked:
“Maybe he’s only joking?” Bob said. “He doesn’t look as if he knew how to harpoon a whale.”
“Let’s take him along, anyhow,” Ned put in. “He’ll know a lot about the ocean, and we can ask him about the lighthouses and the rocks, even if we don’t see him kill a whale.”
In a few minutes the old man came back again. On his head he carried a tub, while over his shoulder was a long pole. He ran down to the dock with a speed surprising in so old a person.
“There she is!” he cried, as he reached the boat. “There’s the iron that sent many a good whale, and some bad ones, too, maybe, to the boiling kettles. There she is!”
It was a harpoon that he had; an old implement, and one that had seen service, to judge by the look of it. It was rusty, and the wooden handle was full of notches.
“Them’s the number of whales she’s been into,” said Salt Water Sam, proudly, pointing to the cuts. “I did every one myself. And this tub and line--well they’ve seen service, just the same as their owner. They’re old but you can depend on ’em.”