He watched his chance, and dodged around the corner of the deck house, where the port watch huddled to keep clear of the wind and the sea.
“Merry Fourth o’ July to ye,” bawled a man of the watch, as he came among them.
“What’s the matter? Can’t ye find enough work to do whin yer turn comes?” asked another.
“Where’s the whale-iron?” asked Tom, of Chips, who had come out of his room to get a look around.
The carpenter looked at him queerly. “What d’ye want wid it?” he asked.
“Listen!” said Tom.
Then the cry of the sea fowl sounded again.
“Penguin?” said Chips.
“Turkey,” said Tom, with a smile. “If we can get the steward to give us a bit o’ salt pork fat we can git him, or I’m a soger.”
He was an old whaleman, and the carpenter hesitated no longer. He led the way into his room in the forward house where he kept his tools, and the iron was brought forth. A word to the mate on watch, and the sailor was fast in the lee forerigging, standing upon the shear-pole, with the iron ready to heave. The fat was tossed over the side, and he waited.