“That,” says Mr. Browning, “is the pulpit.”
“For preaching?” says I. “Who do they preach to, and why do they all have it?”
“For harpooning,” says he. “Swordfish. That’s the great sport here. Wish we had time to give it a try. They say it’s wonderful fun.”
“How do they do it?” says Catty.
“They go outside, some place past Cuttyhunk in the ocean. A swordfish blows something like a whale. They come up and lie on the surface and sleep. I’ve heard you can get right close to them without disturbing them at all. These boats have a man with a long harpoon out on the pulpit, inside that little railing, and when they get right over the swordfish, they let drive. The shaft is free from the head of the harpoon, and as soon as it strikes, it falls off. A long line is fastened to the head, and a keg is fastened to the line. These swordfish are great big fellows, you know; weigh a lot. As soon as the harpoon nicks them, they’re off like regular submarine boats, and the fishermen throw the keg overboard and let the fish pull it around. Then they follow till the fish tires itself out—and shoot it.”
“Must be a circus,” says Catty.
Catty and I were pretty tickled with ourselves for sending the Porpoise off on a wild-goose chase, but we didn’t say a word, because we weren’t supposed to know anything about it. But Mr. Browning and Mr. Topper looked a heap relieved, and surprised, too. When they saw that black yacht up-anchor and move away, you would have thought somebody had left them a billion dollars.
“Now what d’you make of that?” says Mr. Topper in a whisper.
“Beats the Dutch,” says Mr. Browning. “Guess you were mistaken about her. Couldn’t have been following us at all.”
“She was,” says Topper. He began to look kind of worried. “Can’t be they’ve discovered anything, can it? They didn’t get aboard us?”