n in the
crowsnest on a clear day like this. She was a whaler.

I had no glass; but I fixed my gaze upon her black bows as they rose and
fell as she came through the waves. My heart had begun to beat with
excitement. There were the huge white letters as she paid off a bit and
I could see part of her run and broadside. I couldn't be mistaken, and
suddenly I broke out with a loud cheer, for I could read the two painted
lines:

SCARBORO
New Bedford

CHAPTER XXIX

IN WHICH I AM NOT THE ONLY PERSON SURPRISED

I yelled to Pedro and then sprang up, tied a handkerchief to an oar and
waved it frantically. As the old bark swung down toward us I saw several
figures spring into the lower rigging, and by and by their hands waved
to me. I spoke again to the mate of the Sea Spell and he said he could
bring the canoe in close to the bark if they would throw me a rope. I
knew they had identified me, and I was glad to see Ben Gibson standing
on the rail and yelling to me.

I gave each of the Patagonians a dollar and Pedro two, shook hands with
them all, slung my rifle over my shoulder, hooked one arm through my
dunnage-bag (which was fortunately waterproof) and stood ready to seize
the rope which was flung me. The Patagonians brought the canoe right up
to the looming side of the old bark, and as she dipped deep in the sea,
I sprang up and "walked up" her side, clinging to the rope with both
hands. So they got me inboard with merely a dash of saltwater to season
my venture.

The canoe wore off sharply and I turned to wave good-bye to Pedro and
the paddlers. Then a bunch of the old Scarboro's fo'castle hands were
about me. Tom Anderly pushed through the group and grabbed my hand.

"Here ye be, ye blamed young scamp!" he roared. "Leavin' Mr. Gibson an'
me in the lurch in Buenos Ayres."

"And ye missed some of the greatest whalin' ye ever see," burst in the
stroke oar of our old boat. "We got smashed up complete once and lost
boat and every bit of gear. Nobody bad hurt, however."

Within the next few moments I heard a deal of news. How many whales the
Scarboro had butchered since I had left for Buenos Ayres (and despite
Mr. Bobbin's croaking the old bark already had half a cargo in her
tanks); how long it had taken Bill Rudd and his crew to patch up the
hole the bull whale had smashed in the bark's side; about the gale they
had run into which had carried away