"Jack it is, old man. You haven't forgotten the time I picked you up on the beach, have you?" he said, laughing. "Mrs. Sackett," he cried, turning, "allow me to introduce my friend, Captain Henry. Miss Sackett, also. Here's a skipper who hasn't forgotten the day I pulled him out of the water on the coast of South Wales, where he was wrecked. Sink me, but it's a blessing to see gratitude," he cried again, laughing heartily. "Fancy one skipper pulling another out of the sea, hey? Can you do that?"
"Well, I want to know," replied Henry. "I never knew you was a—"
"You never knew what, old man? What is it ye never knew? Sink me, it would fill every barrel you have below, hey? wouldn't it? What you never knew, nor never will know, would fill your little ship so full she'd sink, Henry, or I'm a soger. Ha, ha, hah! my boy; I don't mean to cast no insinuations at you, but that's a fact, ain't it? But what the dickens have you got going on aboard?"
He turned and gazed at the brig's main deck, where tubs of water and soapsuds were being poured into the trying-out kettles built in the brig's waist.
"Why," said Henry, "since you are a sea-capting, you must know the lay of it. Hain't you never crossed the line in a sailin' ship before?"
He had apparently recovered himself, and the surprise at meeting an old acquaintance appeared to give him pleasure.
Taking Mrs. Sackett by the hand, he led her aft up the poop steps, Jackwell following, keeping up a continual talk about whales and whaling skippers. Jennie and I followed behind and examined the brig's strange outfit.
The first mate, a man of middle age, lean and gaunt, came forward and introduced himself. He had sailed in every kind of ship, and was now whaling, he declared, for the last time. As I had made several "last voyages" myself, I knew that he meant simply to show involuntarily that he was a confirmed sailor of the most pronounced sort.
He showed us the lines and irons, the cutting-in outfit, and the kettles and furnace for boiling down the blubber. We followed him about, and I expressed my thanks when we arrived at the poop again, where he left us. Jennie was not interested, and the fact was not lost upon the old fellow, who turned away to join his mates at the kettles.
"Do you know, Mr. Rolling, I don't care a rap for ships," said she. "They don't interest me any more, and I don't think they are the place for women, anyhow."