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Updated: October 26, 2025
Meanwhile the tar-buckets had been heated up, and those fellows gave the canvas and the hull all about it a good coating of tar. We ran several miles on this tack, and until the job was completed. Then, when the men and the tar-buckets were inboard again, the Scarboro was put over on the other tack and we beat back toward the whaleboats.
Ben Gibson sprang up with the bomb gun and tried to put a lance in the beast at that distance. It only scratched him, I suppose, but it did seem to swerve him from his course. Instead of striking the Scarboro, he ran past her stern and circled around her.
"I guess you're right, Mary," she said. "It doesn't seem to be very civilized here in the backwoods and such queer people live here, too. But now! let me telephone." The maid showed her where it was and Ruth called up Scarboro and got the hotel where the Cameron party was stopping. Almost immediately she heard Mr. Cameron's voice. "Hullo! Snow Camp?
Maybe you can handle him. "I would suggest Patagonia," said Zurich kindly. "No; get yourself sent up to the pen for life that'll be best. He wouldn't look for you there." Zurich found but three of his confederacy available Jim Scarboro and Bill Dorsey, the Jim and Bill of the horse camp and the shooting match and Eric Anderson; but these were his best.
"He's going to bunt the old hooker." "That's what he's up to," agreed Tom Anderly; "he's after revenge. And if he hits the Scarboro right, we're likely to have a nice time rowing ashore, boys you can take my word for that!" That old bull was sure a fighting whale.
Inside of five minutes after the first hail the whales spouting from one end of the skyline to the other. We had run into the biggest herd of sperms that the oldest whaleman on the Scarboro had ever seen. Maybe we didn't feel excited! At such times as this one forgets the "grind." There was both money and excitement ahead of us.
In a quarter of an hour we had agreed on everything. Tom and Ben were to stick around Buenos Ayres until they heard from Captain Rogers, or the Scarboro put in for them. Of course, I would be free once I got to land, unless I wanted to stick the voyage out and claim my lay at the end. However, I was to have one hundred dollars in gold from the captain, and the sloop, whichever way I decided.
She had been freshly caulked while she lay on the deck of the Scarboro, and her seams did not let in enough water to keep her sweet. She sailed well in either a light or heavy wind and I really had no fear that we should not make the great seaport of the Argentine Republic all in good time. It was bad for poor Ben Gibson, however.
Says the boy belongs up there where he wants to take Ruth to-morrow?" "He has run away from his home at Scarboro, Uncle," said Ruth. "Young villain! A widder's son, too!" said her uncle. "He says his father is dead," said Ruth, hesitating. "I venture to say!" exclaimed Jabez Potter. "And he's in my bed; is he?" He came back to this as being a reason for objection.
The supposition was that Fred Hatfield had been shot and had rolled into the swift-flowing river. 'Lias had given himself up to the authorities and there seemed some doubt in the minds of the people of Scarboro as to whether the shooting had been an accident.
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