“Of course this is rather old fashioned these days,” Lester went on. “Now, in most of the whaling boats, they put the harpoon in a gun, just as you might thrust a ramrod down the muzzle of a rifle. The harpoon has an explosive shell attached to its head like the torpedo of a submarine. The harpoon is shot from the gun, and after it leaves the muzzle, a rocket charge attached to it carries it still further. When it hits the whale, the bomb explodes and it’s all over. Of course, it’s safer and surer than the old way, but it’s too much like 118 business. It does away with the exciting, desperate struggle between man and whale.”
“What stories this old weapon could tell, if it could only talk,” mused Fred.
“Yes, and they’d be more exciting than anything you read in fiction,” added Bill.
“We may have a chance to use it before the day is over,” said Teddy hopefully, as he looked over the waves on every side.
“It’s a bare possibility,” assented Lester. “I thought it wouldn’t do any harm to bring it along anyhow just on the chance.
“You fellows want to keep a keen lookout for anything that looks like a fin,” he continued. “It would be too bad to let any guilty shark escape.”
As Lester had charge of the tiller and Fred was looking after the sail, the work of watching devolved on Teddy and Bill. They took opposite sides of the craft, Teddy handling Mr. Lee’s binoculars while Bill depended upon the remarkably keen eyes with which nature had gifted him.
An hour went by, during which the little boat made rapid progress. But nothing rewarded the vigil of the two, and Teddy began to grow disgusted.
“Nothing doing to-day, I guess,” he grumbled. “Somebody’s sent a wireless to the sharks telling them to keep out of sight.”
“And after Lester has taken all that trouble in 119 getting a warm welcome ready for them,” mourned Fred.