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The Brushwood Boy- 
Captains Courageous 

Collected Verse 

The Day's Work 

Departmental Ditties and Ballads and Barrack- 
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The Five Nations 

From Sea to Sea 

A History of England. (In Collaboration with 
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The Second Jungle Book 

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Life's Handicap: Being Stories of Mine Own People 

The Light That Failed 

Many Inventions ^^^^ 

The Naulahka: A S^BHBthe West and East 
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Plain Tales from th^mTO 

Puck of Pook's Hill 

Rewards and Fairies 

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Soldiers Three, The Story of the Gadsbys, and 
In Black and White 

The Song of the English 

Songs from Books 

Stalky & Co.. 


Traffics and Discoveries 

Under the Deodars, The Phantom 'Rickshaw, and 
Wee Willie Winkie 

With the Night Mail 






21 ^1 H- 



Copyright, 189/5, 189^, 

12 21 






I ploughed the land with horses, 

But my heart was ill at ease, 
For the old sea-faring men 
Came to me now and then, 
With their sagas of the seas. 











THE FOG." 15 

FOR FUN?'" 21 

THE " WE 're HERE." 37 


HUNDRED.' " 73 





"*'t is a concert,' said long jack, beaming 




a gin-bottle, and a stove-in dory, but no- 
thing more." 129 

" a whiteness moved in the whiteness of the 
fog. . . it was his first introduction to 
the dread summer berg of the bank." . . i43 

" there were days of light airs, when harvey 
was taught how to steer the schooner 
from one berth to another," 151 

"'hi! say! arr^tez vous! attendee! nous 


tabac!'" 163 

•' it was wonderful fishing. harvey could see 
the glimmering cod below, . . . biting as 
steadily as they swam. . . . but so close 
lay the boats that even single hooks 

SNARLED." 203 



HOME." 233 



"WE 're here" to THE "CONSTANCE." . . . 273 

don't act STRAIGHT BY ME.' " 289 






a 7 V/^ 

THE weather door of the smoking-room 
had been left open to the North Atlantic 
fog, as the big liner rolled and lifted, whistling 
to warn the fishing- fleet. 

"That Cheyne boy 's the biggest nuisance 
aboard," said a man in a frieze overcoat, shut- 
ting the door with a bang. "He is n't 
wanted here. He 's too fresh." 

A white-haired German reached for a sand- 
wich, and grunted between bites : " I know 
der breed. Ameriga is full of dot kind. I 
dell you you should imbort ropes' ends free 
under your dariff." 

** Pshaw ! There is n't any real harm to 
him. He 's more to be pitied than anything," 
a man from New York drawled, as he lay at 


full length along the cushions under the wet 
skylight. " They 've dragged him around 
from hotel to hotel ever since he was a kid. 
I was talking to his mother this morning. 
She 's a lovely lady, but she don't pretend to 
manage him. He 's going to Europe to fin- 
ish his education." 

" Education is n't begun yet." This was a 
Philadelphian, curled up in a corner. "That 
boy gets two hundred a month pocket-money, 
he told me. He is n't sixteen either." 

"Railroads, his father, aind't it?" said the 

" Yep. That and mines and lumber and 
shipping. Built one place at San Diego, the 
old man has ; another at Los Angeles ; owns 
half a dozen railroads, half the lumber on the 
Pacific slope, and lets his wife spend the 
money," the Philadelphian went on lazily. 
" The West don't suit her, she says. She 
just tracks around with the boy and hei 
nerves, trying to find out what '11 amuse hiniy 
I guess. Florida, Adirondacks, Lakewood, 
Hot Springs, New York, and round again. 
He is n't much more than a second-hand ho- 
tel clerk now. When he 's finished in Europe 
he '11 be a holy terror." 


"What 's the matter with the old man at- 
tending to him personally ? " said a voice from 
the frieze ulster. 

"Old man 's piling up the rocks. 'Don't 
want to be disturbed, I guess. He '11 find out 
his error a few years from now. 'Pity, be- 
cause there 's a heap of good in the boy if 
you could get at it." 

" Mit a rope's end; mit a rope's end!" 
growled the German. 

Once more the door banged, and a slight, 
slim-built boy perhaps fifteen years old, a 
half-smoked cigarette hanging from one cor- 
ner of his mouth, leaned in over the high 
footway. His pasty yellow complexion did 
not show well on a person of his years, and 
his look was a mixture of irresolution, bra- 
vado, and very cheap smartness. He was 
dressed in a cherry-colored blazer, knicker- 
bockers, red stockings, and bicycle shoes, 
with a red flannel cap at the back of the head. 
After whistling between his teeth, as he eyed 
the company, he said in a loud, high voice: 
" Say, it 's thick outside. You can hear the 
fish-boats squawking all around us. Say, 
would n't it be great if we ran down one ? " 

"Shut the door, Harvey," said the New 


Yorker. " Shut the door and stay outside. 
You 're not wanted here." 

" Who '11 stop me ? " he answered deliber- 
ately. *' Did you pay for my passage, Mister 
Martin ? 'Guess I 've as good right here as 
the next man." 

He picked up some dice from a checker- 
board and began throwing, right hand 
against left. 

*' Say, gen'elmen, this is deader 'n mud. 
Can't we make a game of poker between 
us : 

There was no answer, and he puffed his 
cigarette, swung his legs, and drummed on 
the table with rather dirty fingers. Then he 
pulled out a roll of bills as if to count them. 

"How 's your mama this afternoon?" a 
man said. " I did n't see her at lunch." 

" In her state-room, I guess. She 's 'most 
always sick on the ocean. I 'm going to 
give the stewardess fifteen dollars for looking 
after her. I don't go down more 'n I can 
avoid. It makes me feel mysterious to pass 
that butler's-pantry place. Say, this is the 
first time I 've been on the ocean." 

" Oh, don't apologize, Harvey." 

"Who 's apologizing? This is the first 



time I 've crossed the ocean, gen'elmen, and, 
except the first day, I have n't been sick one 
little bit. No, sir ! " He brought down his 
fist with a triumphant bang, wetted his finger, 
and went on counting the bills. 

" Oh, you 're a high-grade machine, with 
the writing in plain sight," the Philadelphian 
yawned. " You '11 blossom into a credit to 
your country if you don't take care." 

"I know it. I 'm an American — first, 
last, and all the time. I '11 show 'em that 
when I strike Europe. Pff ! My cig 's out, I 
can't smoke the truck the steward sells. Any 
gen'elman got a real Turkish cig on him ? " 

The chief engineer entered for a moment, 
red, smiling, and wet. "Say, Mac," cried 
Harvey cheerfully, "how are we hitting it?" 

" Vara much in the ordinary way," was the 
grave reply. "The young are as polite as 
ever to their elders, an' their elders are e'en 
tryin' to appreciate it." 

A low chuckle came from a corner. The 
German opened his cigar-case and handed 
a skinny black cigar to Harvey. 

" Dot is der broper apparatus to smoke, 
my young friendt," he said. "You vill dry 
it? Yes? Den you vill be efer so happy." 


Harvey lit the unlovely thing with a flour- 
ish : he felt that he was getting on in grown- 
up societyo 

" It would take more 'n this to keel me 
over," he said, ignorant that he was lighting 
that terrible article, a Wheeling " stogie." 

" Dot we shall bresently see," said the 
German. " Where are we now, Mr. Mac- 
tonal' ? " 

*'Just there or thereabouts, Mr. Schaefer," 
said the engineer. "We'll be on the Grand 
Bank to-night; but in a general way o' speak- 
in', we 're all among the fishing-fleet now. 
We 've shaved three dories an' near skelped 
the boom off a Frenchman since noon, an' 
that 's close sailin', ye may say." 

" You like my cigar, eh ? " the German 
asked, for Harvey's eyes were full of tears. 

" Fine, full flavor," he answered through 
shut teeth. "Guess we 've slowed down a lit- 
tle, have n't we? I '11 skip out and see what 
the log says," 

" I might if I vhas you," said the German. 

Harvey staggered over the wet decks to the 
nearest rail. He was very unhappy; but he 
saw the deck-steward lashinof chairs tog-ether, 
and, since he had boasted before the man that 


he was never seasick, his pride made him go 
aft to the second-saloon deck at the stern, 
which was finished in a turtle-back. The 
deck was deserted, and he crawled to the ex- 
treme end of it, near the flag-pole. There he 
doubled up in limp agony, for the Wheeling 
" stogie " joined with the surge and jar of the 
screw to sieve out his soul. His head swelled ; 
sparks of fire danced before his eyes ; his body 
seemed to lose weight, while his heels wa- 
vered in the breeze. He was fainting from 
seasickness, and a roll of the ship tilted him 
over the rail on to the smooth lip of the tur- 
tle-back. Then a low, gray mother-wave 
swung out of the fog, tucked Harvey under 
one arm, so to speak, and pulled him off and 
away to leeward ; the great green closed over 
him, and he went quietly to sleep. 

He was roused by the sound of a dinner- 
horn such as they used to blow at a summer- 
school he had once attended in the Adiron- 
dacks. Slowly he remembered that he was 
Harvey Cheyne, drowned and dead in mid- 
ocean, but was too weak to fit things together. 
A new smell filled his nostrils ; wet and clammy 
chills ran down his back, and he was help- 
lessly full of salt water. When he opened his 


eyes, he perceived that he was still on the top 
of the sea, for it was running round him in 
silver-colored hills, and he was lying on a pile 
of half-dead fish, looking at a broad human 
back clothed in a blue jersey. 

" It 's no good," thought the boy. *' I 'm 
dead, sure enough, and this thing is in charge." 

He groaned, and the figure turned its head, 
showing a pair of little gold rings half hidden 
in curly black hair. 

" Aha ! You feel some pretty well now ? " it 
said. " Lie still so : we trim better." 

With a swift jerk he sculled the flickering 
boat-head on to a foamless sea that lifted her 
twenty full feet, only to slide her into a glassy 
pit beyond. But this mountain-climbing did 
not interrupt blue-jersey's talk. " Fine good 
job, / say, that I catch you. Eh, wha-at? 
Better good job, / say, your boat not catch 
me. How you come to fall out?" 

"I was sick," said Harvey; "sick, and 
could n't help it." 

"Just in time I blow my horn, and your 
boat she yaw a little. Then I see you come 
all down. Eh, wha-at? I think you are cut 
into baits by the screw, but you dreeft — dreeft 
to me, and I make a big fish of you. So you 
shall not die this time." 





" Where am I ? " said Harvey, who could 
not see that Hfe was particularly safe where 
he lay. 

"You are with me in the dory — Manuel 
my name, and I come from schooner We 're 
Here of Gloucester. I live to Gloucester. 
By-and-by we get supper. Eh, wha-at ? " 

He seemed to have two pairs of hands and 
a head of cast-iron, for, not content with blow- 
ing through a big conch-shell, he must needs 
stand up to it, swaying with the sway of the 
flat-bottomed dory, and send a grinding, 
thuttering shriek through the fog. How long 
this entertainment lasted, Harvey could not 
remember, for he lay back terrified at the 
sight of the smoking swells. He fancied he 
heard a gun and a horn and shouting. Some- 
thing bigger than the dory, but quite as lively, 
loomed alongside. Several voices talked at 
once ; he was dropped into a dark, heaving 
hole, where men in oilskins gave him a hot 
drink and took off his clothes, and he fell 

When he waked he listened for the first 
breakfast-bell on the steamer, wondering why 
his state-room had grown so small. Turning, 
he looked into a narrow, triangular cave, lit 


by a lamp hung against a huge square 'beam. 
A three-cornered table within arm's reach ran 
from the angle of the bows to the foremast. 
At the after end, behind a well-used Plymouth 
stove, sat a boy about his own age, with a 
flat red face and a pair of twinkling gray 
eyes. He was dressed in a blue jersey and 
high rubber boots. Several pairs of the same 
sort of foot-wear, an old cap, and some worn- 
out woolen socks lay on the floor, and black 
and yellow oilskins swayed to and fro beside 
the bunks. The place was packed as full of 
smells as a bale is of cotton. The oilskins had 
a peculiarly thick flavor of their own which 
made a sort of background to the smells of 
fried fish, burnt grease, paint, pepper, and 
stale tobacco ; but these, again, were all 
hooped together by one encircling smell of 
ship and salt water. Harvey saw with dis- 
gust that there were no sheets on his bed-place. 
He was lying on a piece of dingy ticking full 
of lumps and nubbles. Then, too, the boat's 
motion was not that of a steamer. She was 
neither sliding nor rolling, but rather wrig- 
gling herself about in a silly, aimless way, 
like a colt at the end of a halter. Water- 
noises ran by close to his ear, and beams 

I c^,<^ 

'he must needs stand up to it, swaying with the sway 

THUTTERING shriek through THE FOG." 


creaked and whined about him. All these 
things made him grunt despairingly and 
think of his mother. 

" Feelin' better? " said the boy, with a grin. 
" Hev some coffee ? " He brought a tin cup 
full and sweetened it with molasses. 

"Is n't there milk?" said Harvey, look- 
ing round the dark double tier of bunks as if 
he expected to find a cow there. 

** Well, no," said the boy. " Ner there ain't 
likely to be till 'baout mid-September. 'T ain't 
bad coffee. " I made it." 

Harvey drank in silence, and the boy handed 
him a plate full of pieces of crisp fried pork, 
which he ate ravenously. 

" I 've dried your clothes. Guess they 've 
shrunk some," said the boy. " They ain't our 
style much — none of 'em. Twist round an' 
see ef you 're hurt any." 

Harvey stretched himself in every direction, 
but could not report any injuries. 

" That 's good," the boy said heartily. " Fix 
yerself an' go on deck. Dad wants to see you. 
I'm his son, — Dan, they call me, — an' I 'm 
cook's helper an' everything else aboard that 's 
too dirty for the men. There ain't no boy here 
'cep' me sence Otto went overboard — an' he 


was only a Dutchy, an' twenty year old at 
that. How d' you come to fall off in a dead 
flat ca'am ? " 

" 'T was n't a calm," said Harvey, sulkily. 
" It was a gale, and I was seasick. Guess I 
must have rolled over the rail." 

" There was a little common swell yes'day 
an' last night," said the boy. " But ef thet's 
your notion of a gale — " He whistled. "You'll 
know more 'fore you 're through. Hurry ! 
Dad 's waitin'." 

Like many other unfortunate yOung people, 
Harvey had never in all his life received a di- 
rect order — never, at least, without long, and 
sometimes tearful, explanations of the advan- 
tages of obedience and the reasons for the re- 
quest. Mrs. Cheyne lived in fear of breaking 
his spirit, which, perhaps, was the reason that 
she herself walked on the edge of nervous 
prostration. He could not see why he should 
be expected to hurry for any man's pleasure, 
and said so. " Your dad can come down here 
if he 's so anxious to talk to me. I want him 
to take me to New York right away. It *11 
pay him." 

Dan opened his eyes, as the size and 
beauty of this joke dawned on him. "Say, 


dad ! " he shouted up the focsle hatch, " he 
says you kin slip down an' see him ef you 're 
anxious that way. 'Hear, dad ? " 

The answer came back in the deepest voice 
Harvey had ever heard from a human chest : 
" Quit foohn', Dan, and send him to me." 

Dan sniggered, and threw Harvey his 
warped bicycle shoes. There was something 
in the tones on the deck that made the boy 
dissemble his extreme rage and console him- 
self with the thought of gradually unfolding 
the tale of his own and his father's wealth on 
the voyage home. This rescue would cer- 
tainly make him a, hero among his friends for 
life. He hoisted himself on deck up a per- 
pendicular ladder, and stumbled aft, over a 
score of obstructions, to where a small, thick- 
set, clean-shaven man with gray eyebrows 
sat on a step that led up to the quarter-deck. 
The swell had passed in the night, leaving a 
long, oily sea, dotted round the horizon with 
the sails of a dozen fishing-boats. Between 
them lay little black specks, showing where 
the dories were out fishing. The schooner, 
with a triangular riding-sail on the mainmast, 
played easily at anchor, and except for the 
man by the cabin-roof — "house" they call it 
— she was deserted. 


** Mornin' — Good afternoon, I should say. 
You Ve nigh slep' the clock around, young 
feller," was the greeting. 

" Mornin'," said Harvey. He did not like 
being called "young feller"; and, as one 
rescued from drowning, expected sympathy. 
His mother suffered agonies whenever he got 
his feet wet ; but this mariner did not seem 

" Naow let 's hear all abaout it. It *s 
quite providential, first an' last, fer all con- 
cerned. What might be your name ? Where 
from (we mistrust it 's Noo York), an' where 
baound (we mistrust it 's Europe) ? " 

Harvey gave his name, the name of the 
steamer, and a short history of the accident, 
winding up with a demand to be taken back 
immediately to New York, where his father 
would pay anything any one chose to name. 

" H'm," said the shaven man, quite un- 
moved by the end of Harvey's speech. "I 
can't say we think special of any man, or boy 
even, that falls overboard from that kind o' 
packet in a flat ca'am. Least of all when his 
excuse is thet he 's seasick." 

" Excuse ! " cried Harvey. " D' you sup- 
pose I 'd fall overboard into your dirty little 
boat for fun ? " 

"excuse!' cried HARVEY. ' D' YOU SUPPOSE I 'D FALL 


'* Not knowin* what your notions o' fun 
may be, I can't rightly say, young feller. But 
if I was yoUy I would n't call the boat which, 
under Providence, was the means o' savin' ye, 
names. In the first place, it 's blame irreli- 
gious. In the second, it 's annoyin' to my 
feelin's — an* I 'm Disko Troop o' the We 're 
Here o* Gloucester, which you don't seem 
rightly to know." 

*' I don*t know and I don't care," said Har- 
vey. ** I 'm grateful enough for being saved 
and all that, of course ; but I want you to un- 
derstand that the sooner you take me back to 
New York the better it '11 pay you." 

" Meanin' — haow ? " Trooo raised one 
shaggy eyebrow over a suspiciously mild 
blue eye. 

" Dollars and cents," said Harvey, de- 
lighted to think that he was making an 
impression. '* Cold dollars and cents." He 
thrust a hand into a pocket, and threw out 
his stomach a little, which was his way of 
being grand. ** You Ve done the best day's 
work you ever did In your life when you 
pulled me in. I 'm all the son Harvey Cheyne 

" He *s bin favored," said Disko, dryly. 


" And if you don't know who Harvey 
Cheyne is, you don't know much — that *s 
all. Now turn her around and let *s hurry." 

Harvey had a notion that the greater part 
of America was filled with people discussing 
and envying his father's dollars. 

" Mebbe I do, an* mebbe I don't. Take a 
reef in your stummick, young feller. It 's full 
o' my vittles." 

Harvey heard a chuckle from Dan, who 
was pretending to be busy by the stump-fore- 
mast, and the blood rushed to his face. " We '11 
pay for that too," he said. "When do you 
suppose we shall get to New York ? " 

" I don't use Noo York any. Ner Boston. 
We may see Eastern Point abaout Septem- 
ber; an' your pa — I *m real sorry I hain't 
heerd tell of him — may give me ten dollars 
efter all your talk. Then o' course he may n't." 

"Ten dollars! Why, see here, I — " Har- 
vey dived into his pocket for the wad of bills. 
All he brought up was a soggy packet of cig- 

" Not lawful currency, an' bad for the lungs. 
Heave *em overboard, young feller, and try 

" It *s been stolen ! " cried Harvey, hotly. 


"You '11 hev to wait till you see your pa 
to reward me, then ? " 

"A hundred and thirty-four dollars — all 
stolen," said Harvey, hunting wildly through 
his pockets. ** Give them back." 

A curious change flitted across old Troop's 
hard face. *'What might you have been 
doin' at your time o* life with one hundred an' 
thirty-four dollars, young feller ? " 

"It was part of my pocket-money — for 
a month." This Harvey thought would be a 
knock-down blow, and it was — indirectly. 

" Oh ! One hundred and thirty-four dol- 
lars is only part of his pocket-money — for 
one month only ! You don't remember hittin' 
anything when you fell over, do you ? Crack 
agin a stanchion, le' 's say. Old man Hasken 
o* the East Wind'' — Troop seemed to be 
talking to himself — " he tripped on a hatch 
an' butted the mainmast with his head — 
hardish. 'Baout three weeks afterwards, old 
man Hasken he would hev it that the East 
Wind was a commerce-destroyin' man-o'- 
war, an' so he declared war on Sable Island 
because it was Bridish, an' the shoals run 
aout too far. They sewed him up in a bed- 
bag, his head an' feet appearin', fer the rest 


o' the trip, an' now he 's to home in Essex 
playin' with Httle rag dolls.'* 

Harvey choked with rage, but Troop went 
on consolingly : " We 're sorry fer you. 
We 're very sorry fer you — an' so young. 
We won't say no more abaout the money, I 

" 'Course you won't. You stole it.'* 

" Suit yourself. We stole it ef it *s any 
comfort to you. Naow, abaout goin' back. 
Allowin' we could do it, which we can't, you 
ain't in no fit state to go back to your 
home, an' we 've jest come on to the Banks, 
workin' fer our bread. We don't see the 
ha'af of a hundred dollars a month, let alone 
pocket-money ; an' with good luck we '11 be 
ashore again somewheres abaout the first 
weeks o' September." 

** But — but it 's May now, and I can't stay 
here doln' nothing just because you want to 
fish. I cant, I tell you ! " 

•' Right an' jest ; jest an right. No one 
asks you to do nothin'. There *s a heap as 
you can do, for Otto he went overboard on Le 
Have. I mistrust he lost his grip in a gale 
we fund there. Anyways, he never come 
back to deny it. You 've turned up, plain, 


plumb providential for all concerned. I mis- 
trust, though, there *s ruther few things you 
kin do. Ain't thet so ? " 

'* I can make it lively for you and your 
crowd when we get ashore," said Harvey, with 
a vicious nod, murmuring vague threats about 
"piracy," at which Troop almost — not quite 

— smiled. 

" Excep' talk. I 'd forgot that. You ain't 
asked to talk more *n you 've a mind to aboard 
the We 're Here. Keep your eyes open, an' 
help Dan to do ez he's bid, an' sechlike, an' 
I '11 give you — you ain't wuth it, but I '11 give 

— ten an' a ha'af a month; say thirty-five at 
the end o' the trip. A little work will ease 
up your head, an' you kin tell us all abaout 
your dad an' your ma an' your money efter- 

** She 's on the steamer," said Harvey, his 
eyes filling with tears. "Take me to New 
York at once." 

" Poor woman — poor woman ! When she 
has you back she '11 forgit it all, though. 
There 's eight of us on the We We Here, an' ef 
we went back naow — it's more 'n a thousand 
mile — we 'd lose the season. The men they 
would n't hev it, allowin' I was agreeable." 


" But my father would make it all right." 

" He 'd try. I don't doubt he *d try," said 
Troop; "but a whole season's catch is eight 
men's bread ; an' you '11 be better in your 
health when you see him in the fall. Go for- 
ward an' help Dan. It 's ten an' a ha'af a 
month, ez I said, an', o' course, all fund, same 
ez the rest o' us." 

" Do you mean I'm to clean pots and pans 
and things?" said Harvey. 

" An' other things. You 've no call to shout, 
young feller." 

" I won't ! My father will give you enough 
to buy this dirty little fish-kettle " — Harvey 
stamped on the deck — " ten times over, if you 
take me to New York safe; and — and — you 're 
in a hundred and thirty by me, anyway." 

" Ha-ow ? " said Troop, the iron face dark- 

" How ? You know how, well enough. On 
top of all that, you want me to do menial 
work " — Harvey was very proud of that adjec- 
tive — "till the Fall. I tell you I will not. You 

Troop regarded the top of the mainmast 
with deep interest for a while, as Harvey ha- 
rangued fiercely all around him. 


"Hsh!" he said at last. "I 'm figurin' 
out my responsibilities in my own mind. It 's 
a matter o' jedgment." 

Dan stole up and plucked Harvey by the 
elbow. " Don't go to tamperin' with dad any 
more," he pleaded. ** You 've called him a 
thief two or three times over, an' he don't take 
that from any livin' bein'." 

" I won't ! " Harvey almost shrieked, disre- 
garding the advice, and still Troop meditated. 

** Seems kinder unneighborly," he said at 
last, his eye traveling down to Harvey. ** I 
don't blame you, not a mite, young feller, nor 
you won't blame '}ne when the bile *s out o* 
your systim. 'Be sure you sense what I 
say ? Ten an' a ha'af fer second boy on the 
schooner — an' all fund — fer to teach you 
an fer the sake o' your health. Yes or no ? " 

" No ! " said Harvey. '* Take me back to 
New York or I '11 see you — " 

He did not exactly remember what follovv^ed. 
He was lying in the scuppers, holding on to a 
nose that bled, while Troop looked down on 
him serenely. 

'* Dan," he said to his son, " I was sot agin 
this young feller when I first saw him, on ac- 
count o' hasty jedgments. Never you be led 


astray by hasty jedgments, Dan. Naow I 'm 
sorry for him, because he 's clear distracted in 
his upper works. He ain't responsible fer the 
names he 's give me, nor fer his other state- 
ments — nor fer jumpin' overboard, which I 'm 
abaout ha'af convinced he did. You be gen- 
tle with him, Dan, 'r I '11 give you twice what 
I Ve give him. Them hemmeridges clears 
the head. Let him sluice it off! " 

Troop went down solemnly into the cabin, 
where he and the older men bunked, leav- 
ing Dan to comfort the luckless heir to thirty 


I WARN ED ye," said Dan, as the drops 
fell thick and fast on the dark, oiled 
planking. " Dad ain't noways hasty, but 
you fair earned it. Pshaw ! there 's no sense 
takin' on so." Harvey's shoulders were rising 
and falling in spasms of dry sobbing. " I know 
the feelin'. First time dad laid me out was 
the last — and that was my first trip. Makes 
ye feel sickish an' lonesome. / know." 

" It does," moaned Harvey. "That man 's 
either crazy or drunk, and — and I can't do 

" Don't say that to dad," whispered Dan. 
" He 's set agin all liquor, an' — well, he told 
me you was the madman. What in creation 
made you call him a thief? He's my dad." 

Harvey sat up, mopped his nose, and told 
the story of the missing wad of bills. " I 'm 
not crazy," he wound up. "Only — your fa- 
ther has never seen more than a five-dollar 


bill at a time, and my father could buy up this 
boat once a week and never miss it." 

" You don't know what the We We Here 's 
worth. Your dad must hev a pile o' money. 
How did he git it? Dad sez loonies can't 
shake out a straight yarn. Go ahead." 

" In gold mines and things, West." 

*• I 've read o' that kind o' business. Out 
West, too ? Does he go around with a pistol 
on a trick-pony, same ez the circus. They 
call that the Wild West, and I 've heard that 
their spurs an' bridles was solid silver." 

" You are a chump ! " said Harvey, amused 
in spite of himself. " My father has n't any 
use for ponies. When he wants to ride he 
takes his car." 

" Haow ? Lobster-car ? " 

** No. His own private car, of course. 
You Ve seen a private car some time in 
your life ? " 

" Slatin Beeman he hez one," said Dan, cau- 
tiously. '* I saw her at the Union Depot in 
Boston, with three niggers hoggin' her run." 
(Dan meant cleaning the windows.) '* But 
Slatin Beeman he owns 'baout every railroad 
on Long Island, they say ; an' they say he 's 
bought 'baout ha'af Noo Hampshire an' run a 


line-fence around her, an* filled her up with 
lions an* tigers an' bears an' buffalo an* croc- 
odiles an' such all. Slatin Beeman he *s a 
millionaire. I *ve seen his car. Yes?" 

" Well, my father 's what they call a multi- 
millionaire; and he has two private cars. 
One *s named for me, the * Harvey,* and one 
for my mother, the * Constance.' ** 

" Hold on," said Dan. " Dad don't ever 
let me swear, but I guess jj/^/^ can. 'Fore we 
go ahead, I want you to say hope you may 
die if you 're lying." 

"Of course," said Harvey. 

'* Thet ain't 'nuff. Say, *Hope I may die If 
I ain't speakin' truth.' " 

*' Hope I may die right here," said Harvey, 
" if every word I 've spoken is n't the cold 

"Hundred an* thirty-four dollars an* all?" 
said Dan. ** I heard ye talkin' to dad, an' I 
ha'af looked you 'd be swallered up, same 's 

Harvey protested himself red in the face. 
Dan was a shrewd young person along his 
own lines, and ten minutes' questioning con- 
vinced him that Harvey was not lying — much. 
Besides, he had bound himself by the most 


terrible oath known to boyhood, and yet he 
sat, ahve, with a red- ended nose, in the scup- 
pers, recounting marvels upon marvels. 

'* Gosh ! " said Dan at last from the very 
bottom of his soul when Harvey had completed 
an inventory of the car named in his honor. 
Then a grin of mischievous delight overspread 
his broad face. " I believe you, Harvey. 
Dad 's made a mistake fer once in his life." 

"He has, sure," said Harvey, who was 
meditating an early revenge. 

" He '11 be mad clear through. Dad jest 
hates to be mistook in his jedgments." Dan 
lay back and slapped his thigh. *' Oh, Har- 
vey, don't you spile the catch by lettin* on." 

•* I don't want to be knocked down again. 
I '11 get even with him, though." 

** Never heard any man ever got even with 
dad. But he 'd knock ye down again sure. 
The more he was mistook the more he 'd do 
it. But gold mines and pistols — " 

** I never said a word about pistols," Harvey 
cut in, for he was on his oath. 

"Thet's so; no more you did. Two pri- 
vate cars, then, one named fer you an' one fer 
her ; an' two hundred dollars a month pocket- 
money, all knocked into the scuppers fer not 


workin' fer ten an' a ha'af a month ! It 's the 
top haul o' the season." He exploded with 
noiseless chuckles. 

"Then I was right?** said Harvey, who 
thought he had found a sympathizer. 

"You was wrong; the wrongest kind o* 
wrong ! You take right hold an' pitch in 
'longside o' me, or you '11 catch it, an' I '11 
catch it fer backin* you up. Dad always gives 
me double helps 'cause I 'm his son, an' he 
hates favorin' folk. Guess you 're kinder mad 
at dad. I 've been that way time an' again. 
But dad 's a mighty jest man ; all the Fleet 
says so." 

"Looks like justice, this, don*t it?" Har- 
vey pointed to his outraged nose. 

•' Thet 's nothin'. Lets the shore blood 
outer you. Dad did it for yer health. Say, 
though, I can't have dealin's with a man that 
thinks me or dad or any one on the We 're 
Here *s a thief. We ain't any common 
wharf-end crowd by any manner o' means. 
We 're fishermen, an' we 've shipped to- 
gether for six years an' more. Don't you 
make any mistake on that! I told ye dad 
don't let me swear. He calls 'em vain oaths, 
and pounds me; but ef"I could say what you 


said 'baout your pap an' his fixin's, I *d say 
that 'baout your dollars. I dunno what was 
in your pockets when I dried your kit, fer I 
did n't look to see; but I *d say, using the 
very same words ez you used jest now, nei- 
ther me nor dad — an' we was the only two 
that teched you after you was brought aboard 
— knows any thin* 'baout the money. Thet 's 
my say. Naow? " 

The blood-letting had certainly cleared 
Harvey's brain, and maybe the loneliness 
of the sea had something to do with it. 
** That 's all right," he said. Then he looked 
down confusedly. "'Seems to me, that for a 
fellow just saved from drowning I have n't 
been over and above grateful, Dan." 

•' Well, you was shook up and silly," said 
Dan. ** Anyway, there was only dad an* me 
aboard to see it. The cook he don't count." 

" I might have thought about losing the 
bills that way," Harvey said, half to himself, 
"instead of calling everybody in sight a thief. 
Where 's your father ? " 

" In the cabin. What d' you want o* him 
again ? " 

" You *11 see," said Harvey, and he stepped, 
rather groggily, for his head was still singing, 



to the cabin steps, where the little ship's clock 
hung- in plain sight of the wheel. Troop, in 
the chocolate-and-yellow painted cabin, was 
busy with a note-book and an enormous black 
pencil, which he sucked hard from time to 

" I have n't acted quite right," said Har- 
vey, surprised at his own meekness. 

"What 's wrong naow?" said the skipper. 
"Walked into Dan, hev ye?" 

" No ; it 's about you." 

" I 'm here to listen." 

" Well, I — I 'm here to take things back," 
said Harvey, very quickly. "When a man 's 
saved from drowning — -" he gulped. 

" Ey ? You '11 make a man yet ef you go 
on this way." 

" He ought n't begin by calling people 

"Jest an' right — right an' jest," said Troop, 
with the ghost of a dry smile. 

" So I 'm here to say I 'm sorry." Another 
big gulp. 

Troop heaved himself slowly off the locker 
he was sitting on and held out an eleven-inch 
hand. " I mistrusted 't would do you sights 
o' good ; an' this shows I were n't mistook in 


my jedgments." A smothered chuckle on 
deck caught his ear. " I am very seldom 
mistook in my jedgments." The eleven-inch 
hand closed on Harvey's, numbing it to the 
elbow. "We '11 put a little more gristle to 
that 'fore we 've done with you, young feller ; 
an' I don't think any worse of ye fer anythin' 
thet 's gone by. You was n't fairly respon- 
sible. Go right abaout your business an' you 
won't take no hurt." 

" You 're white," said Dan, as Harvey re- 
gained the deck, flushed to the tips of his ears. 

" I don't feel it," said he. 

•' I did n't mean that way. I heard what 
dad said. When dad allows he don't think 
the worse of any man, dad 's give himself 
away. He hates to be mistook in his jedg- 
ments too. Ho ! ho ! Onct dad has a jedg- 
ment, he 'd sooner dip his colors to the 
British than change it. I 'm glad it *s settled 
right eend up. Dad 's right when he says he 
can't take you back. It 's all the livin* we 
make here — fishin*. The men '11 be back like 
sharks after a dead whale in ha'af an hour." 

"What for?" said Harvey. 

" Supper, o' course. Don't your stummick 
tell you ? You 've a heap to learn." 


" Guess I have," said Harvey, dolefully, 
looking at the tangle of ropes and blocks 

'* She 's a daisy," said Dan, enthusiastically, 
misunderstanding the look. "Wait till our 
mainsail 's bent, an' she walks home with all " 
her salt wet. There *s some work first, 
though." He pointed down into the dark- 
ness of the open main-hatch between the two 

" What 's that for ? It s all empty," said 

" You an' me an* a few more hev got to fill 
it," said Dan. " That 's where the fish goes." 

" Alive ? " said Harvey. 

"Well, no. They 're so 's to be ruther 
dead — an* flat — an' salt. There 's a hun- 
dred hogshead o' salt in the bins ; an* we 
hain't more 'n covered our dunnage to now." 

" Where are the fish, though ? " 

"In the sea they say; in the boats we 
pray," said Dan, quoting a fisherman's prov- 
erb. " You come in last night with 'baout 
forty of *em." 

He pointed to a sort of wooden pen just 
in front of the quarter-deck. 

" You an' me we '11 sluice that out when 


they 're through. 'Send we '11 hev full pens 
to-night ! I 've seen her down ha'af a foot 
with fish waitin' to clean, an' we stood to the 
tables till we was splittin' ourselves instid 
o' them, we was so sleepy. Yes, they 're 
comin' in naow." Dan looked over the low 
bulwarks at half a dozen dories rowing to- 
ward them over the shining, silky sea. 

" I 've never seen the sea from so low 
down," said Harvey. " It 's fine." 

The low sun made the water all purple and 
pinkish, with golden lights on the barrels 
of the long swells, and blue and green 
mackerel shades in the hollows. Each 
schooner in sight seemed to be pulling her 
dories towards her by invisible strings, and 
the little black figures in the tiny boats 
pulled like clockwork toys. 

"They 've struck on good," said Dan, be- 
tween his half-shut eyes. " Manuel hain't 
room fer another fish. Low ez a lily-pad in 
still water, ain't he ? " 

"Which is Manuel? I don't see how you 
can tell 'em 'way off, as you do." 

" Last boat to the south'ard. He fund 
you last night," said Dan, pointing. " Man- 
uel rows Portugoosey ; ye can't, mistake him. 


East o* him — he's a heap better 'n he rows 

— is Pennsylvania. Loaded with saleratus, 
by the looks of him. East o' him — see how 
pretty they string out all along — with the 
humpy shoulders, is Long Jack. He 's a 
Galway man inhabitin' South Boston, where 
they all live mostly, an' mostly them Galway 
men are good in a boat. North, away yonder 

— you '11 hear him tune up in a minute — is 
Tom Piatt. Man-o'-war's man he was on the 
old Ohio — first of our navy, he says, to go 
araound the Horn. He never talks of much 
else, 'cept when he sings, but he has fair 
fishin' luck. There ! What did I tell you ? " 

A melodious bellow stole across the water 
from the northern dory. Harvey heard 
something about somebody's hands and feet 
being cold, and then : 

" Bring forth the chart, the doleful chart, 
See where them mountings meet ! 
The clouds are thick around their heads, 
The mists around their feet." 

** Full boat," said Dan, with a chuckle. 
" If he gives us * O Captain ' it 's toppin' 


The bellow continued : 

" And naow to thee, O Capting, 
Most earnestly I pray, 
That they shall never bury me 
In church or cloister gray." 

" Double game for Tom Piatt. He '11 tell 
you all about the old Ohio to-morrow. 'See 
that blue dory behind him ? He 's my uncle, 
— dad's own brother, — an' ef there 's any bad 
luck loose on the Banks she '11 fetch up agin 
Uncle Salters, sure. Look how tender he 's 
rowin'. I '11 lay my wage and share he 's the 
only man stung up to-day — an' he 's stung up 

" What '11 sting him ? " said Harvey, getting 

** Strawberries, mostly. Punkins, some- 
times, an' sometimes lemons an' cucumbers. 
Yes, he 's stung up from his elbows down. 
That man's luck 's perfectly paralyzin'. Naow 
we '11 take a-holt o' the tackles an' hist 'em in. 
Is it true what you told me jest now, that you 
never done a hand's turn o' work in all your 
born life? Must feel kinder awful, don't 

" I 'm going to try to work, anyway," Har- 


vey replied stoutly. " Only it 's all dead 

" Lay a-holt o' that tackle, then. Behind 
ye ! " 

Harvey grabbed at a rope and long iron 
hook dangling from one of the stays of the 
mainmast, while Dan pulled down another 
that ran from something he called a " topping- 
lift," as Manuel drew alongside in his loaded 
dory. The Portuguese smiled a brilliant 
smile that Harvey learned to know well later, 
and with a short-handled fork began to throw 
fish into the pen on deck. "Two hundred 
and thirty-one," he shouted. 

"Give him the hook," said Dan, and Har- 
vey ran it into Manuel's hands. He slipped 
it through a loop of rope at the dory's bow, 
caught Dan's tackle, hooked it to the stern- 
becket, and clambered into the schooner. 

" Pull ! " shouted Dan, and Harvey pulled, 
astonished to find how easily the dory rose. 

" Hold on, she don't nest in the cross- 
trees ! " Dan laughed ; and Harvey held on, 
for the boat lay in the air above his head. 

" Lower away," Dan shouted, and as Har- 
vey lowered, Dan swayed the light boat with 
one hand till it landed softly just behind 


the mainmast. "They don't weigh nothin' 
empty. Thet was right smart fer a passenger. 
There 's more trick to it in a sea-way." 

"Ah ha!" said Manuel, holding out a 
brown hand. " You are some pretty well 
now ? This time last night the fish they 
fish for you. Now you fish for fish. Eh, 
wha-at? " 

" I 'm — I 'm ever so grateful," Harvey 
stammered, and his unfortunate hand stole 
to his pocket once more, but he remembered 
that he had no money to offer. When he 
knew Manuel better the mere thought of the 
mistake he might have made would cover 
him with hot, uneasy blushes in his bunk. 

"There is no to be thankful for to me/" 
said Manuel. " How shall I leave you dreeft, 
dreeft all around the Banks ? Now you are 
a fisherman — eh, wha-at ? Ouh ! Auh ! " 
He bent backward and forward stiffly from 
the hips to get the kinks out of himself 

" I have not cleaned boat to-day. Too 
busy. They struck on queek. Danny, my 
son, clean for me." 

Harvey moved forward at once. Here was 
something he could do for the man who had 
saved his life. 


Dan threw him a swab, and he leaned over 
the dory, mopping up the sHme ckimsily, but 
with great good- will. " Hike out the foot- 
boards ; they slide in them grooves," said 
Dan. " Swab 'em an' lay 'em down. Never 
let a foot-board jam. Ye may want her bad 
some day. Here 's Long Jack." 

A stream of glittering fish flew into the 
pen from a dory alongside. 

" Manuel, you take the tackle. I '11 fix 
the tables. Harvey, clear Manuel's boat. 
Long Jack 's nestin' on the top of her." 

Harvey looked up from his swabbing at 
the bottom of another dory just above his 

"Jest like the Injian puzzle-boxes, ain't 
-they ? " said Dan, as the one boat dropped 
into the other. 

" Takes to ut like a duck to water," said 
Long Jack, a grizzly-chinned, long-lipped 
Galway man, bending to and fro exactly as 
Manuel had done. Disko in the cabin 
growled up the hatchway, and they could 
hear him suck his pencil. 

"Wan hunder an' forty-nine an' a half — 
bad luck to ye, Discobolus ! " said Long Jack. 
" I 'm murderin' meself to fill your pockuts. 


Slate ut for a bad catch. The Portugee has 
bate me." 

Whack came another dory alongside, and 
more fish shot into the pen. 

"Two hundred and three. Let 's look at the 
passenger ! " The speaker was even larger 
than the Galway man, and his face was made 
curious by a purple cut running slantways 
from his left eye to the right corner of his 

Not knowing what else to do, Harvey 
swabbed each dory as it came down, pulled 
out the foot-boards, and laid them in the bot- 
tom of the boat. 

" He 's caught on good," said the scarred 
man, who was Tom Piatt, watching him criti- 
cally. " There are two ways o' doin' every- 
thing. One's fisher- fashion — any end first 
an' a slippery hitch over all — an' the other's — " 

"What we did on the old Ohio T' Dan 
interrupted, brushing into the knot of men 
with a long board on legs. *' Git out o' here, 
Tom Piatt, an' leave me fix the tables." 

He jammed one end of the board into two 
nicks in the bulwarks, kicked out the leg, and 
ducked just in time to avoid a swinging blow 
from the man-o'-war's man. 


"An* they did that on the Ohio, too, 
Danny. See ? " said Tom Piatt, laughing. 

'* Guess they was swivel-eyed, then, fer it 
did n't git home, and I know who *11 find his 
boots on the main-truck ef he don't leave us 
alone. Haul ahead ! I 'm busy, can't ye 

** Danny, ye lie on the cable an' sleep all 
day," said Long Jack. " You 're the hoight 
av impidence, an' I 'm persuaded ye '11 corrupt 
our supercargo in a week." 

" His name 's Harvey," said Dan, waving 
two strangely shaped knives, " an' he '11 be 
worth five of any Sou' Boston clam-digger 
'fore long." He laid the knives tastefully on 
the table, cocked his head on one side, and 
admired the effect. 

"/think it 's forty-two," said a small voice 
overside, and there was a roar of laughter as 
another voice answered, " Then my luck 's 
turned fer onct, 'caze I 'm forty-five, though I 
be stung outer all shape." 

" Forty-two or forty-five. I 've lost count," 
the small voice said. 

" It 's Penn an' Uncle Salters caountin' 
catch. This beats the circus any day," said 
Dan. " Jest look at 'em ! " 


" Come in — come in ! " roared Long Jack. 
" It *s wet out yondher, children." 

" Forty-two, ye said." This was Uncle 

" I '11 count again, then," the voice replied 

The two dories swung together and bunted 
into the schooner's side. 

" Patience o' Jerusalem ! " snapped Uncle 
Salters, backing water with a splash. *' What 
possest a farmer like you to set foot in a boat 
beats me. You 've nigh stove me all up." 

*' I am sorry, Mr. Salters. I came to sea 
on account of nervous dyspepsia. You ad- 
vised me, I think." 

" You an' your nervis dyspepsy be drowned 
in the Whale-hole," roared Uncle Salters, a 
fat and tubly little man. " You 're comin' 
down on me agin. Did ye say forty-two or 
forty-five ? " 

'* I 've forgotten, Mr. Salters. Let*s count." 

" Don't see as it could be forty-five. / 'm 
forty-five," said Uncle Salters. "You count 
keerful, Penn." 

Disko Troop came out of the cabin. "Sal- 
ters, you pitch your fish in naow at once," he 
said in the tone of authority. 


** Don't spile the catch, dad," Dan mur- 
mured. " Them two are on'y jest beginnin'." 

" Mother av delight ! He 's forkin' them 
wan by wan," howled Long Jack, as Uncle 
Salters got to work laboriously ; the little 
man in the other dory counting a line of 
notches on the gunwale. 

** That was last week's catch," he said, 
looking up plaintively, his forefinger where 
he had left off. 

Manuel nudged Dan, who darted to the 
after- tackle, and, leaning far overside, slipped 
the hook into the stern -rope as Manuel made 
her fast forward. The others pulled gallantly 
and swung the boat in — man, fish, and all. 

"One, two, four — nine," said Tom Piatt, 
counting with a practised eye. " Forty- 
seven. Penn, you 're it ! " Dan let the after- 
tackle run, and slid him out of the stern on to 
the deck amid a torrent of his own fish. 

" Hold on ! " roared Uncle Salters, bobbing 
by the waist. " Hold on, I 'm a bit mixed in 
my caount." 

He had no time to protest, but was hove 
inboard and treated like " Pennsylvania." 

** Forty-one," said Tom Piatt. " Beat by a 
farmer, Salters. An' you sech a sailor, too ' " 


" 'T were n't fair caount," said he, stumbling 
out of the pen; "an' I 'm stung up all to 

His thick hands were puffy and mottled 
purply white. 

** Some folks will find strawberry-bottom," 
said Dan, addressing the newly risen moon, 
" ef they hev to dive fer it, seems to me." 

"An' others," said Uncle Salters, "eats the 
fat o' the land in sloth, an' mocks their own 

" Seat ye ! Seat ye ! " a voice Harvey had 
not heard called from the foc'sle. Disko Troop, 
Tom Piatt, Long Jack, and Salters went for- 
ward on the word. Little Penn bent above 
his square deep-sea reel, and the tangled cod- 
lines; Manuel lay down full length on the deck, 
and Dan dropped into the hold, where Harvey 
heard him banging casks with a hammer. 

" Salt," he said, returning. " Soon as we 're 
through supper we git to dressing-down. 
You '11 pitch to dad. Tom Piatt an' dad they 
stow together, an' you '11 hear 'em arguin'. 
We *re second ha'af, you an' me an' Manuel 
an' Penn — the youth an' beauty o' the boat." 

"What 's the good of that?" said Harvey. 
" I 'm hungry." 


" They '11 be through in a minute. Snfif ! 
She smells good to-night. Dad ships a good 
cook ef he do suffer with his brother. It 's a 
full catch to-day, ain 't it ? " He pointed at the 
pens piled high with cod. "What water did 
ye hev, Manuel ? " 

** Twenty-fife father," said the Portuguese, 
sleepily. " They strike on good an' queek. 
Some day I show you, Harvey." 

The moon was beginning to walk on the 
^till sea before the elder men came aft. The 
cook had no need to cry " second half" Dan 
and Manuel were down the hatch and at table 
ere Tom Piatt, last and most deliberate of the 
elders, had finished wiping his mouth with 
the back of his hand. Harvey followed Penn, 
and sat down before a tin pan of cod's tongues 
and sounds, mixed with scraps of pork and 
fried potato, a loaf of hot bread, and some 
black and powerful coffee. Hungry as they 
were, they waited while " Pennsylvania" sol- 
emnly asked a blessing. Then they stoked 
in silence till Dan drew breath over his tin 
cup and demanded of Harvey how he felt. 

" 'Most full, but there 's just room for an- 
other piece." 

The cook was a huge, jet-black negro, and, 


unlike all the negroes Harvey had met, did 
not talk, contenting himself with smiles and 
dumb-show invitations to eat more. 

" See, Harvey," said Dan, rapping with 
his fork on the table, " it 's jest as I said. 
The young an' handsome men — like me an' 
Pennsy an' you an' Manuel — we 're second 
ha'af, an' we eats when the first ha'af are 
through. They 're the old fish ; and they 're 
mean an' humpy, an' their stummicks has 
to be humored ; so they come first, which 
they don't deserve. Ain't that so, doctor ? " 

The cook nodded. 

*' Can't he talk ? " said Harvey in a whisper. 

"'Nough to git along. Not much o' any- 
thing we know. His natural tongue 's kinder 
curious. Comes from the innards of Cape Bre- 
ton, he does, where the farmers speak home- 
made Scotch. Cape Breton 's full o' niggers 
whose folk run in there durin' aour war, an' 
they talk like the farmers — all huffy-chuffy." 

" That is not Scotch," said " Pennsylvania." 
** That is Gaelic. So I read in a book." 

" Penn reads a heap. Most of what he 
says is so — 'cep' when it comes to a caount 
o* fish — eh ? " 

" Does your father just let them say how 


many they 've caught without checking them?" 
said Harvey. 

" Why, yes. Where *s the sense of a man 
lyin' fer a few old cod ? " 

"Was a man once lied for his catch," Man- 
uel put in. " Lied every day. Fife, ten, 
twenty-fife more fish than come he say there 

"Where was that?" said Dan. "None o* 
aour folk." 

" Frenchman of Anguille." 

" Ah ! Them West Shore Frenchmen don't 
caount anyway. Stands to reason they can't 
caount. Ef you run acrost any of their soft 
hooks, Harvey, you '11 know why," said Dan, 
with an awful contempt. 

" Always more and never less, 
Every time we come to dress,'* 

Long Jack roared down the hatch, and the 
" second ha'af " scrambled up at once. 

The shadow of the masts and rigging, with 
the never- furled riding-sail, rolled to and fro 
on the heaving deck in the moonlight; and 
the pile of fish by the stern shone like a dump 
of fluid silver. In the hold there w6re tramp- 
lings and rumblings where Disko Troop and 


Tom Piatt moved among the salt-bins. Dan 
passed Harvey a pitchfork, and led him to 
the inboard end of the rough table, where 
Uncle Salters was drumming impatiently with 
a knife-haft. A tub of salt water lay at his 
feet. , 

" You pitch to dad an' Tom Piatt down the 
hatch, an' take keer Uncle Salters don't cut 
yer eye out," said Dan, swinging himself into 
the hold. " I '11 pass salt below." 

Penn and Manuel stood knee deep among 
cod in the pen, flourishing drawn knives. 
Long Jack, a basket at his feet and mittens 
on his hands, faced Uncle Salters at the table, 
and Harvey stared at the pitchfork and the tub. 

"Hi!" shouted Manuel, stooping to the 
fish, and bringing one up with a finger under 
its gill and a finger in its eye. He laid it on 
the edge of the pen ; the knife-blade glim- 
mered with a sound of tearing, and the fish, 
slit from throat to vent, with a nick on either 
side of the neck, dropped at Long Jack's 

" Hi ! " said Long Jack, with a scoop of his 
mittened hand. The cod's liver dropped in 
the basket. Another wrench and scoop sent 
the head and offal flying, and the empty fish 


slid across to Uncle Salters, who snorted 
fiercely. There was another sound of tear- 
ing, the backbone flew over the bulwarks, and 
the fish, headless, gutted, and open, splashed 
in the tub, sending the salt water into Har-_ 
vey's astonished mouth. After the first yell, 
the men were silent. The cod moved along 
as though they were alive, and long ere Har- 
vey had ceased wondering at the miraculous 
dexterity of it all, his tub was full. 

** Pitch ! " grunted Uncle Salters, without 
turning his head, and Harvey pitched the fish 
by twos and threes down the hatch. 

" Hi ! Pitch 'em bunchy," shouted Dan. 
** Don't scatter ! Uncle Salters is the best 
splitter in the fleet. Watch him mind his 
book ! " 

Indeed, it looked a little as though the 
round uncle were cutting magazine pages 
against time. Manuel's body, cramped over 
from the hips, stayed like a statue ; but his 
long arms grabbed the fish without ceasing. 
Little Penn toiled valiantly, but it was easy 
to see he was weak. Once or twice Manuel 
found time to help him without breaking the 
chain of supplies, and once Manuel howled 
because he had caught his finger in a French- 


man's hook. These hooks are made of soft 
metal, to be rebent after use ; but the cod 
very often get away with them and are hooked 
again elsewhere ; and that is one of the many 
reasons why the Gloucester boats despise the 

Down below, the rasping sound of rough 
salt rubbed on rough flesh sounded like the 
whirring of a grindstone — a steady undertune 
to the " click-nick " of the knives in the pen ; 
the wrench and schloop of torn heads, dropped 
liver, and flying offal ; the " caraaah " of Un- 
cle Salters's knife scooping away backbones ; 
and the flap of wet, opened bodies falling Into 
the tub. 

At the end of an hour Harvey would have 
given the world to rest ; for fresh, wet cod 
weigh more than you would think, and his 
back ached with the steady pitching. But he 
felt for the first time In his life that he was 
one of a working gang of men, took pride In 
^the thought, and held on sullenly. 

*' Knife oh 1 " shouted Uncle Salters at last. 
Penn doubled up, gasping among the fish, 
Manuel bowed back and forth to supple him- 
self, and Long Jack leaned over the bulwarks. 
The cook appeared, noiseless as a black 


shadow, collected a mass of backbones and 
heads, and retreated. 

" Blood-ends for breakfast an* head-chow- 
der," said Long Jack, smacking his lips. 

** Knife oh ! " repeated Uncle Salters, wav- 
ing the flat, curved splitter's weapon. 

•' Look by your foot, Harve," cried Dan 

Harvey saw half a dozen knives stuck in a 
cleat in the hatch combing. He dealt these 
around, taking over the dulled ones. 

" Water ! " said Disko Troop. 

" Scuttle-butt 's for'ard an' the dipper 's 
alongside. Hurry, Harve," said Dan. 

He was back in a minute with a big dipperful 
of stale brown water which tasted like nectar, 
and loosed the jaws of Disko and Tom Piatt. 

"These are cod," said Disko. "They ain't 
Damarskus figs, Tom Piatt, nor yet silver 
bars. I 've told you that every single time 
sence we Ve sailed together." 

" A matter o' seven seasons," returned Tom 
Piatt coolly. " Good stowin 's good stowin' all 
the same, an' there 's a right an' a wrong way 
o' stowin' ballast even. If you 'd ever seen 
four hundred ton o' iron set into the — " 

"Hi ! " With a yell from Manuel the work 


began again, and never stopped till the pen 
was empty. The instant the last fish was 
down, Disko Troop rolled aft to the cabin 
with his brother; Manuel and Long Jack 
went forward; Tom Piatt only waited long 
enough to slide home the hatch ere he too 
disappeared. In half a minute Harvey heard 
deep snores in the cabin, and he was staring 
blankly at Dan and Penn. 

" I did a little better that time, Danny," 
said Penn, whose eyelids were heavy with 
sleep. " But I think it is my duty to help 

"'Would n't hev your conscience fer a thou- 
sand quintal," said Dan. "Turn in, Penn. 
You 've no call to do boy's work. Draw a 
bucket, Harvey. Oh, Penn, dump these in 
the gurry-butt 'fore you sleep. Kin you keep 
awake that long ? " 

Penn took up the heavy basket offish-livers, 
emptied them into a cask with a hinged top 
lashed by the foc'sle ; then he too dropped 
out of sight in the cabin. 

" Boys clean up after dressin' down, an' 
first watch in ca'am weather is boy's watch on 
the IVe 're //ere." Dan sluiced the pen . i- 
ergetically, unshipped the table, set it up 


dry in the moonlight, ran the red knife-blades 
through a wad of oakum, and began to sharpen 
them on a tiny grindstone, as Harvey threw 
offal and backbones overboard under his di- 

At the first splash a silvery-white ghost 
rose bolt upright from the oily water and 
sighed a weird whistling sigh. Harvey started 
back with a shout, but Dan only laughed. 
" Grampus," said he. " Beggirt' fer fish-heads. 
They up-eend thet way when they 're hun- 
gry. Breath on him like the doleful tombs, 
hain't he ? " A horrible stench of decayed 
fish filled the air as the pillar of white sank, 
and the water bubbled oilily. " Hain't ye 
never seen a grampus up-eend before ? You '11 
see 'em by hundreds 'fore ye 're through. Say, 
it 's good to hev a boy aboard again. Otto 
was too old, an' a Dutchy at that. Him an' 
me we fought consid'ble. 'Would n't ha' keered 
fer thet ef he 'd hed a Christian tongue in his 
head. Sleepy?" 

" Dead sleepy," said Harvey, nodding for- 

" Must n't sleep on watch. Rouse up an* 
se'.? ef our anchor-light *s bright an' shinin'. 
"^-"■:i 're on watch now, Harve." 


*• Pshaw ! What *s to hurt us ? 'Bright 's 
day. Sn — orrr ! " 

'^•' Jest when things happen, dad says. Fine 
weather 's good sleepin', an' 'fore you know, 
mebbe, you 're cut in two by a Hner, an' sev- 
enteen brass-bound officers, ail gen'eimen, liit 
their hand to it that your lights was aout an' 
there was a thick fog. Harve, I 've kinder 
took to you, but ef you nod onct more I '11 lay 
into you with a rope's end." 
- The moon, who sees many strange things 
on the Banks, looked down on a slim youth in 
knickerbockers and a red jersey, staggering 
around the cluttered decks of a seventy-ton 
schooner, while behind him, waving a knotted 
rope, walked, after the manner of an execu- 
tioner, a boy who yawned and nodded be- 
tween the blows he dealt. 

The lashed wheel groaned and kicked 
softly, the riding-sail slatted a Tittle in the 
shifts of the light wind, the windlass creaked, 
and the miserable procession continued. Har- 
vey expostulated, threatened, whimpered, and 
at last wept outright, while Dan, the words 
clotting on his tongue, spoke of the beauty 
of watchfulness and slashed away with the 
rope's end, punishing the dories as often as 


he hit Harvey. At last the clock in the cabin 
struck ten, and upon the tenth stroke little 
Penn crept on deck. He found two boys in 
two tumbled heaps side by side on the main 
hatch, so deeply asleep that he actually rolled 
them to their berths. 


IT was the forty-fathom slumber that clears 
the soul and eye and heart, and sends you 
to breakfast ravening. They emptied a big 
tin dish of juicy fragments of fish — the blood- 
ends the cook had collected overnight. They 
cleaned up the plates and pans of the elder 
mess, who were out fishing, sliced pork for 
the midday meal, swabbed down the foc'sle, 
filled the lamps, drew coal and water for the 
cook, and investigated the fore-hold, where 
the boat's stores were stacked. It was an- 
other perfect day — soft, mild, and clear ; and 
Harvey breathed to the very bottom of his 

More schooners had crept up in the night, 
and the long blue seas w^re full of sails and 
dories. Far away on the horizon, the smoke 
of some liner, her hull invisible, smudged 
the blue, and to eastward a big ship's top- 
gallant sails, just lifting, made a square nick 



in it. Disko Troop was smoking by the roof 
of the cabin — one eye on the craft around, 
and the other on the httle fly at the main- 

" When dad kerflummoxes that way," said 
Dan in a whisper, " he 's doin' some high- 
hne thinkin' fer all hands. I '11 lay my wage 
an' share we '11 make berth soon. Dad he 
knows the cod, an' the fleet they know dad 
knows. 'See 'em comin' up one by one, look- 
in' fer nothin' in particular, o' course, but 
scrowgin' on us all the time ^ There 's the 
Prince Leboo ; she 's a Chat- ham boat. 
She 's crep' up sence last night. An' see 
that big one with a patch in her foresail an' 
a new jib? She 's the Carrie Pit77ian from 
West Chat-ham. She won't keep her can- 
vas long onless her luck 's changed since 
last season. She don't do much 'cep' drift. 
There ain't an anchor made '11 hold her. 
. . . When the smoke puffs up in little rings 
like that, dad 's studyin' the fish. Ef we 
speak to him now, he '11 git mad. Las' tim.e 
I did, he jest took an' hove a boot at me." 

Disko Troop stared forward, the pipe be- 
tween his teeth, with eyes that saw nothing. 
As his son said, he was studying the fish — 


pitting his knowledge and experience on the 
Banks against the roving cod in his own sea. 
He accepted the presence of the inquisitive 
schooners on the horizon as a compHment to 
his powers. But now that it was paid, he 
wished to draw away and make his berth 
alone, till it was time to go up to the Virgin 
and fish in the streets of that roaring town 
upon the waters. So Disko Troop thought 
of recent weather, and gales, currents, food- 
supplies, and other domestic arrangements, 
from the point of view of a twenty-pound cod; 
was, in fact, for an hour a cod himself, and 
looked remarkably like one. Then he re- 
moved the pipe from his teeth. 

" Dad," said Dan, " we've done our chores. 
Can't we go overside a piece? It 's good 
catchin' weather." 

" Not in that cherry-colored rig ner them 
ha'af-baked brown shoes. Give him suthin' 
fit to wear." 

" Dad's pleased — that settles it," said Dan, 
delightedly, dragging Harvey into the cabin, 
while Troop pitched a key down the steps. 
" Dad keeps my spare rig where he kin over- 
haul it, 'cause ma sez I 'm keerless." He 
rummaged through a locker, and in less than 


three minutes Harvey was adorned with fish- 
erman's rubber boots that came half up his 
thigh, a heavy bhie jersey well darned at the 
elbows, a pair of nippers, and a sou'wester. 

" Naow ye look somethin' like," said Dan. 
" Hurry ! " 

"Keep nigh an' handy," said Troop, "an' 
don't go visitin' raound the fleet. Ef any one 
asks you what I 'm cal'latin' to do, speak the 
truth — fer ye don't know." 

A little red dory, labeled Hattie S., lay 
astern of the schooner. Dan hauled in the 
painter, and dropped lightly on to the bottom 
boards, while Harvey tumbled clumsily after. 

"That 's no way o' gettin' into a boat," 
said Dan. " Ef there was any sea you 'd go 
to the bottom, sure. You got to learn to 
meet her." 

Dan fitted the thole-pins, took the forward 
thwart, and watched Harvey's work. The 
boy had rowed, in a lady-like fashion, on the 
Adirondack ponds; but there is a difference 
between squeaking pins and well-balanced 
rullocks — light sculls and stubby, eight-foot 
sea-oars. They stuck in the gentle swell, 
and Harvey grunted. 

" Short ! Row short ! " said Dan. " Ef you 


cramp your oar in any kind o' sea you 're 
liable to turn her over. Ain't she a daisy? 
Mine, too." 

The little dory was specklessly clean. In 
her bows lay a tiny anchor, two jugs of water, 
and some seventy fathoms of thin, brown 
dory-roding. A tin dinner-horn rested in 
cleats just under Harvey's right hand, beside 
an ugly-looking maul, a short gaff, and a 
shorter wooden stick. A couple of lines, with 
very heavy leads and double cod-hooks, all 
neatly coiled on square reels, were stuck in 
their place by the gunwale. 

"Where 's the sail and mast?" said Har- 
vey, for his hands were beginning to blister. 

Dan chuckled. " Ye don't sail fishin'- 
dories much. Ye pull ; but ye need n't 
pull so hard. Don't you wish you owned 

"Well, I guess my father might give me 
one or two if I asked 'em," Harvey replied. 
He had been too busy to think much of his 
family till then. 

"That 's so. I forgot your dad 's a mil- 
lionaire. You don't act millionary any, 
naow. But a dory an' craft an' gear " — Dan 
spoke as though she were a whaleboat — 


" costs a heap. Think your dad 'u'd give 
you one fer — fer a pet hke ? '* 

" Should n't wonder. It would be 'most 
the only thing I have n't stuck him for yet." 

" 'Must be an expensive kinder kid to home. 
Don't slitheroo thet way, Harve. Short 's 
the trick, because no sea 's ever dead still, 
an' the swells '11 — " 

Crack ! The loom of the oar kicked Harvey 
under the chin and knocked him backwards. 

" That was what I was goin' to say. I hed 
to learn too, but / was n't more than eight 
years old when I got my schoolin'." 

Harvey regained his seat with aching jaws 
and a frown. 

" No good gettin' mad at things, dad says. 
It 's our own fault ef we can't handle 'em, he 
says. Le' 's try here. Manuel '11 give us 
the water." 

The "Portugee" was rocking fully a mile 
away, but when Dan up-ended an oar he 
waved his left arm three times. 

" Thirty fathom," said Dan, stringing a 
salt clam on to the hook. " Over with the 
doughboys. Bait same 's I do, Harve, an' 
don't snarl your reel." 

Dan's line was out long before Harvey had 



mastered the mystery of baiting and heaving 
out the leads. The dory drifted along easily. 
It was not worth while to anchor till they 
were sure of sjood o-round. 

"Here we come!" Dan shouted, and a 
shower of spray rattled on Harvey's shoul- 
ders as a big cod flapped and kicked along- 
side. " Muckle, Harvey, muckle ! Under 
your hand ! Quick ! " 

Evidently "muckle" could not be the din- 
ner-horn, so Harvey passed over the maul, 
and Dan scientifically stunned the fish before 
he pulled it inboard, and wrenched out the 
hook with the short wooden stick he called a 
" gob-stick." Then Harvey felt a tug, and 
pulled up zealously. 

** Why, these are strawberries ! " he shouted. 
" Look ! " 

The hook had fouled among a bunch of 
strawberries, red on one side and white on the 
other — perfect reproductions of the land fruit, 
except that there were no leaves, and the stem 
was all pipy and slimy. 

" Don't tech 'em ! Slat *em off. Don't — " 

The warning came too late. Harvey had 
picked them from the hook, and was admiring 


" Ouch ! " he cried, for his fingers throbbed 
as though he had grasped many nettles. 

" Naow ye know what strawberry-bottom 
means. Nothin' 'cep' fish should be teched 
with the naked fingers, dad says. Slat 'em 
off agin the gunnel, an' bait up, Harve. 
Lookin' won't help any. It 's all in the 

Harvey smiled at the thought of his ten 
and a half dollars a month, and wondered 
what his mother would say if she could see 
him hanging over the edge of a fishing-dory 
in mid-ocean. She suffered agonies when- 
ever he went out on Saranac Lake ; and, by 
the way, Harvey remembered distinctly that 
he used to laugh at her anxieties. Suddenly 
the line flashed through his hand, stinging 
even through the " nippers," the woolen circ- 
lets supposed to protect it. 

" He 's a logy. Give him room accordin' 
to his strength," cried Dan. " I '11 help ye." 

"No, you won't," Harvey snapped, as he 
hung on to the line. "It 's my first fish. 
Is — is it a whale? " 

** Halibut, mebbe." Dan peered down into 
the water alongside, and flourished the big 
"muckle," ready for all chances. Some- 


thing white and oval flickered and fluttered 
through the green. "I '11 lay my wage an' 
share he 's over a hundred. Are you so 
everlastin' anxious to land him alone ? " 

Harvey's knuckles were raw and bleeding 
where they had been banged against the 
gunwale ; his face was purple-blue between 
excitement and exertion ; he dripped with 
sweat, and was half-blinded from staring at 
the circling sunlit ripples about the swiftly 
moving line. The boys were tired long ere 
the halibut, who took charge of them and the 
dory for the next twenty minutes. But the 
big flat fish was gaffed and hauled in at last. 

'* Beginner's luck," said Dan, wiping his 
forehead. " He 's all of a hundred." 

Harvey looked at the huge gray-and- 
mottled creature with unspeakable pride. 
He had seen halibut many times on marble 
slabs ashore, but it had never occurred to 
him to ask how they came inland. Now he 
knew ; and every inch of his body ached with 

*' Ef dad was along," said Dan, hauling 
up, ** he 'd read the signs plain 's print. The 
fish are runnin' smaller an' smaller, an* you 've 
took 'baout as logy a halibut 's we 're apt to 

•I 'll lay my wage an' share he 's over a hundred.'" 


find this trip. Yesterday's catch — did ye 
notice it ? — was all big fish an' no halibut. 
Dad he 'd read them signs right off. Dad 
says everythin' on the Banks is signs, an* can 
be read wrong er right. Dad 's deeper 'n 
the Whale-hole." 

Even as he spoke some one fired a pistol 
on the IVe 're Here, and a potato-basket was 
run up in the fore-rigging, 

'* What did I say, naow ? That 's the caK 
fer the whole crowd. Dad 's outer something, 
er he 'd never break fishin' this time o' day. 
Reel up, Harve, an' we '11 pull back." 

They were to windward of the schooner, 
just ready to flirt the dory over the still sea, 
when sounds of woe half a mile off led them 
to Penn, who was careering around a fixed 
point, for all the world like a gigantic water- 
bug. The little man backed away and came 
down again with enormous energy, but at the 
end of each manoeuvre his dory swung round 
and snubbed herself on her rope. 

*' We '11 hev to help him, else he '11 root an' 
seed here," said Dan. 

"What 's the matter?" said Harvey. This 
was a new world, where he could not lay 
down the law to his elders, but had to ask 


questions humbly. And the sea was horribly 
big and unexcited. 

" Anchor 's fouled. Penn 's always losing 
*em. Lost two this trip a'ready — on sandy 
bottom too — an' dad says next one he loses, 
sure 's fishin', he '11 give him the kelleg. That 
'u'd break Penn's heart." 

"What 's a 'kelleg'?" said Harvey, who 
had a vague idea it might be some kind of 
marine torture, like keel-hauling in the story- 

•' Big stone instid of an anchor. You kin 
see a kelleg ridin' in the bows fur *s you can 
see a dory, an' all the fleet knows what it 
means. They 'd guy him dreadful. Penn 
could n't stand that no more 'n a dog with a 
dipper to his tail. He 's so everlastin' sensi- 
tive. Hello, Penn ! Stuck again ? Don't try 
any more o' your patents. Come up on her, 
and keep your rodin' straight up an' down." 

" It does n't move," said the little man, pant- 
ing. •* It does n't move at all, and indeed I 
tried everything." 

" What 's all this hurrah's-nest for'ard ? " 
said Dan, pointing to a wild tangle of spare 
oars and dory-roding, all matted together by 
the hand of inexperience. 


" Oh, that," said Penn proudly, " is a Span- 
ish windlass. Mr. Salters showed me how to 
make it ; but even that does n't move her." 

Dan bent low over the gunwale to hide a 
smile, twitched once or twice on the roding, 
and, behold, the anchor drew at once. 

"Haul up, Penn," he said, laughing, "er 
she '11 git stuck again." 

They left him regarding the weed-hung 
flukes of the little anchor with big, pathetic 
blue eyes, and thanking them profusely. 

'* Oh, say, while I think of it, Harve," said 
Dan when they were out of ear-shot, " Penn 
ain't quite all caulked. He ain't nowise dan- 
gerous, but his mind 's give out. See ? " 

" Is that so, or is it one of your father's 
judgments? " Harvey asked as he bent to his 
oars. He felt he was learning to handle them 
more easily. 

" Dad ain't mistook this time. Penn 's a 
sure 'nuff loony. No, he ain't thet exactly, so 
much ez a harmless ijjit. It was this way 
(you 're rowin' quite so, Harve), an' I tell you 
'cause it 's right you orter know. He was a 
Moravian preacher once. Jacob Boiler wuz 
his name, dad told me, an' he lived with his 
wife an' four children somewheres out Penn- 


sylvania way. Well, Penn he took his folks 
along to a Moravian meetin' — camp-meetin' 
most like — an' they stayed over jest one 
night in Johnstown. You 've heered talk 
o' Johnstown ? " 

Harvey considered. ** Yes, I have. But 
I don't know why. It sticks in my head 
same as Ashtabula." 

"Both was big accidents — thet 's why, 
Harve. Well, that one single night Penn and 
his folks was to the hotel Johnstown was 
wiped out. 'Dam bust an' flooded her, an' 
the houses struck adrift an' bumped into 
each other an' sunk. I 've seen the pictures, 
an' they 're dretful. Penn he saw his folk 
drowned all 'n a heap 'fore he rightly knew 
what was comin'. His mind give out from 
that on. He mistrusted somethin' hed hap- 
pened up to Johnstown, but for the poor life 
of him he could n't remember what, an' he 
jest drifted araound smilin' an' wonderin'. 
He did n't know what he was, nor yit what 
he hed bin, an' thet way he run agin Uncle 
Salters, who was visitin' 'n Allegheny City. 
Ha'af my mother's folks they live scattered 
inside o' Pennsylvania, an' Uncle Salters he 
visits araound winters. Uncle Salters he 


kinder adopted Penn, well knowin' what his 
trouble wuz ; an' he brought him East, an' 
he give him work on his farm." 

" Why, I heard him calling Penn a farmer 
last night when the boats bumped. Is your 
Uncle Salters a farmer ? " <^0 P 

" Farmer ! " shouted Dan. " There ain't 
water enough 'tween here an' Hatt'rus to 
wash the furrer-mold off'n his boots. He 's 
jest everlastin' farmer. Why, Harve, I 've 
seen thet man hitch up a bucket, long towards 
sundown, an' set twiddlin' the spigot to the 
scuttle-butt same 's ef 't wuz a cow's bag. 
He 's thet much farmer. Well, Penn an' he they 
ran the farm — up Exeter way 't wuz. Uncle 
Salters he sold it this spring to a jay from 
Boston as wanted to build a summer-haouse, 
an' he got a heap for it. Well, them two 
loonies scratched along till, one day, Penn's 
church he 'd belonofed to — the Moravians — 
found out where he wuz drifted an' layin', 
an' wrote to Uncle Salters. 'Never heerd 
what they said exactly ; but Uncle Salters 
was mad. He 's a 'piscopalian mostly — but 
he jest let 'em hev it both sides o' the bow, 's 
if he was a Baptist ; an' sez he war n't goin' 
to give up Penn to any blame Moravian con- 


nection in Pennsylvania or anywheres else. 
Then he come to dad, towin' Penn, — thet was 
two trips back, — an' sez he an* Penn must fish 
a trip fer their health. 'Guess he thought the 
Moravians would n't hunt the Banks fer Jacob 
Boiler. Dad was agreeable, fer Uncle Salters 
he 'd been fishin' off an' on fer thirty years, 
when he war n't inventin' patent manures, an' 
he took quarter-share in the We 're Here ; 
an' the trip done Penn so much good, dad 
made a habit o' takin' him. Some day, dad 
sez, he '11 remember his wife an' kids afi 
Johnstown, an' then, like 's not, he '11 die, 
dad sez. Don't ye talk abaout Johnstown ner 
such things to Penn, 'r Uncle Salters he '11 
heave ye overboard." 

" Poor Penn ! " murmured Harvey. ** I 
should n't ever have thought Uncle Salters 
cared for him by the look of 'em together." 

" I like Penn, though ; we all do," said Dan. 
"We ought to ha' give him a tow, but I 
wanted to tell ye first." 

They were close to the schooner now, the 
other boats a little behind them. 

"You need n't heave in the dories till after 
dinner," said Troop from the deck. " We '11 
dress-daown right off Fix table, boys ! " 


"Deeper 'n the Whale- deep," said Dan, 
with a wink, as he set the gear for dressing 
down. " Look at them boats that hev edged 
up sence mornin'. They 're all waitin' on 
dad. See 'em, Harve?" 

"They are all alike to me." And indeed 
to a landsman, the nodding schooners around 
seemed run from the same mold. 

" They ain't, though. That yaller, dirty 
packet with her bowsprit steeved that way, 
she 's the Hope of Prague. Nick Brady 's 
her skipper, the meanest man on the Banks. 
We '11 tell him so when we strike the Main 
Ledge. 'Way off yander 's the Days Eye. 
The two Jeraulds own her. She 's from Har- 
wich ; fastish, too, an' hez good luck ; but dad 
he 'd find fish in a graveyard. Them other 
three, side along, they 're the Margie Smith, 
Rose, and Edith S. Walen, all frum home. 
'Guess we '11 see the Abbie M. Deeriiig to- 
morrer, dad, won't we ? They 're all slippin* 
over from the shoal o' 'Queereau." 

"You won't see many boats to-morrow, 
Danny." When Troop called his son Danny, 
it was a sign that the old man was pleased. 
" Boys, we 're too crowded," he went on, ad- 
dressing the crew as they clambered inboard. 


" We '11 leave 'em to bait big an' catch small.*' 
He looked at the catch in the pen, and it was 
curious to see how little and level the fish ran. 
Save for Harvey's halibut, there was nothing 
over fifteen pounds on deck. 

" I 'm waitin' on the weather," he added. 

" Ye '11 have to make it yourself, Disko, for 
there 's no sign / can see," said Long Jack, 
sweeping the clear horizon. 

And yet, half an hour later, as they were 
dressing down, the Bank fog dropped on 
them, "between fish and fish," as they say. 
It drove steadily and in wreaths, curling and 
smoking along the colorless water. The men 
stopped,dressing-down without a word. Long 
Jack and Uncle Salters slipped the windlass 
brakes into their sockets, and began to heave 
up the anchor ; the windlass jarring as the wet 
hempen cable strained on the barrel. Man- 
uel and Tom Piatt gave a hand at the last. 
The anchor came up with a sob, and the rid- 
ing-sail bellied as Troop steadied her at the 
wheel. " Up jib and foresail," said he. 

" Slip 'em in the smother," shouted Lc g 
Jack, making fast the jib-sheet, while i 
others raised the clacking, rattling rings f 
the foresail ; and the fore-boom creaked as the 


We 're Here looked up into the wind and 
dived off into blank, whirling white. 

"There 's wind behind this fog," said 

It was all wonderful beyond words to 
Harvey ; and the most wonderful part wa^ 
that he heard no orders except an occasional 
grunt from Troop, ending with, " That 's 
good, my son ! " 

" 'Never seen anchor weighed before ? " 
said Tom Piatt, to Harvey gaping at the damp 
canvas of the foresail. 

" No. Where are we going ? " 

" Fish and make berth, as you '11 find out 
'fore you 've bin a week aboard. It 's all new 
to you, but we never know what may come to 
us. Now, take me — Tom Piatt — I 'd never 
ha' thought — " 

" It 's better than fourteen dollars a month 
an* a bullet in your belly," said Troop, from 
the wheel. " Ease your jumbo a grind." 

" Dollars an' cents better," returned the 
man-o'-war's man, doing something to a big 
jib'^vith a wooden spar tied to it. "But we 
d^ J n't think o' that when we manned the 
wLdlass-brakes on the Miss Jim Buck^ omX.- 

IThe Gemsbok, U. S. N.? 


side Beaufort Harbor, with Fort Magon 
heavin' hot shot at our stern, an' a Uvin' gale 
atop of all. 'Where was you then, Disko?" 

*' Jest here, or hereabouts," Disko replied, 
" earnin* my bread on the deep waters, an' 
dodgin' Reb privateers. Sorry I can't accom- 
modate you with red-hot shot, Tom Piatt; but 
I guess we '11 come aout all right on wind 
'fore we see Eastern Point." 

There was an incessant slapping and chat- 
ter at the bows now, varied by a solid thud 
and a little spout of spray that clattered down 
on the foc'sle. The rigging dripped clammy 
drops, and the men lounged along the lee of 
the house — all save Uncle Salters, who sat 
stiffly on the main-hatch nursing his stung 

"'Guess she 'd carry stays'l," said Disko, 
rolling one eye at his brother. 

" 'Guess she would n't to any sorter profit. 
What 's the sense o' wastin' canvas ? " the 
farmer-sailor replied. 

The wheel twitched almost imperceptibly 
in Disko's hands. A few seconds later a 
hissing wave-top slashed diagonally across 
the boat, smote Uncle Salters between the 
shoulders, and drenched him from head to 





foot. He rose sputtering, ^nd went forward 
only to catch another. 

" See dad chase him all around the deck," 
said Dan. " Uncle Salters he thinks his quar- 
ter share 's our canvas. Dad 's put this duckin' 
act up on him two trips runnin*. Hi ! That 
found him where he feeds." Uncle Salters 
had taken refuge by the foremast, but a wave 
slapped him over the knees. Disko's face 
was as blank as the circle of the wheel. 

" Guess she 'd lie easier under stays'l, 
Salters," said Disko, as though he had seen 

" Set your old kite, then," roared the vic- 
tim through a cloud of spray ; ** only don't 
lay it to me if anything happens. Penn, you 
go below right off an' git your coffee. You 
ought to hev more sense than to bum araound 
on deck this weather." 

" Now they '11 swill coffee an' play checkers 
till the cows come home," said Dan, as Uncle 
Salters hustled Penn into the fore-cabin. 
" 'Looks to me like 's if we 'd all be doin' 
so fer a spell. There 's nothin' in creation 
deader-limpsey- idler 'n a Banker when she 
ain't on fish." 

" I 'm glad ye spoke, Danny," cried Long 


Jack, who had been casting round in search 
of amusement. " I 'd clean forgot we 'd a 
passenger under that T-wharf hat. There 's 
no idleness for thim that don't know their 
ropes. Pass him along, Tom Piatt, an' we '11 
larn him." 

•*'T ain't my trick this time," grinned Dan. 
** You 've got to go it alone. Dad learned 
me with a rope's end." 

For an hour Long Jack walked his prey up 
and down, teaching, as he said, "things at the 
sea that ivry man must know, blind, dhrunk, 
or asleep." There is not much gear to a sev- 
enty-ton schooner with a stump-foremast, but 
Long Jack had a gift of expression. When 
he wished to draw Harvey's attention to the 
peak-halyards, he dug his knuckles into the 
back of the boy's neck and kept him at gaze 
for half a minute. He emphasized the differ- 
ence between fore and aft generally by rub- 
bing Harvey's nose along a few feet of the 
boom, and the lead of each rope was fixed in 
Harvey's mind by the end of the rope itself. 

The lesson would have been easier had the 
deck been at all free ; but there appeared to 
be a place on it for everything and anything 
except a man. Forward lay the windlass and 


its tackle, with the chain and hemp cables, all 
very unpleasant to trip over ; the foc'sle stove- 
pipe, and the gurry-butts by the foc'sle hatch 
to hold the fish-livers. Aft of these the fore- 
boom and booby of the main-hatch took all 
the space that was not needed for the pumps 
and dressing-pens. Then came the nests of 
dories lashed to ring-bolts by the quarter-deck; 
the house, with tubs and oddments lashed all 
around it; and, last, the sixty-foot main-boom 
in its crutch, splitting things lengthwise, to 
duck and dodge under every time. 

Tom Piatt, of course, could not keep his 
oar out of the business, but ranged alongside 
with enormous and unnecessary descriptions 
of sails and spars on the old Ohio. 

** Niver mind fwhat he says ; attind to me, 
Innocince. Tom Piatt, this bally-hoo 's not 
the Ohio, an' you' re mixing the bhoy bad." 

" He '11 be ruined for life, beginnin' on a 
fore -an*- after this way," Tom Piatt pleaded. 
** Give him a chance to know a few leadin' 
principles. Sailin' 's an art, Harvey, as I 'd 
show you if I had ye in the fore-top o' 

•* I know ut. Ye 'd talk him dead an' 
cowld. Silince, Tom Piatt ! Now, after all 


I Ve said, how 'd you reef the foresail, Harve? 
Take your time answerin'." 

" Haul that in," said Harvey, pointing to 

" Fwhat ? The North Adantuc ? " 

" No, the boom. Then run that rope you 
showed me back there — " 

" That 's no way," Tom Piatt burst in. 

" Quiet ! He 's larnin', an' has not the 
names good yet. Go on, Harve." 

" Oh, it 's the reef-pennant. I 'd hook the 
tackle on to the reef- pennant, and then let 
down — " 

" Lower the sail, child ! Lower ! " said 
Tom Piatt, in a professional agony. 

" Lower the throat and peak halyards," 
Harvey went on. Those names stuck in his 

" Lay your hand on thim," said Long Jack. 

Harvey obeyed. " Lower till that rope- 
loop — on the after-leach — kris — no, it 's 
cringle — till the cringle was down on the 
boom. Then I 'd tie her up the way you said, 
and then I 'd hoist up the peak and throat 
halyards again." 

" You 've forgot to pass the tack-earing, 
but wid time and help ye '11 larn. There 's 





good and just reason for ivry rope aboard, or 
else 't would be overboard. D' ye follow me ? 
'T is dollars an' cents I 'm puttin' into your 
pocket, ye skinny little supercargo, so that 
fwhin ye 've filled out ye can ship from Boston 
to Cuba an' tell thim Long Jack larned you. 
Now I '11 chase ye around a piece, callin' the 
ropes, an' you '11 lay your hand on thim as I 

He began, and Harvey, who was feeling 
rather tired, walked slowly to the rope named. 
A rope's end licked round his ribs, and nearly 
knocked the breath out of him. 

"When you own a boat," said Tom Piatt, 
with severe eyes, " you can walk. Till then, 
take all orders at the run. Once more — to 
make sure ! " 

Harvey was in a glow with the exercise, 
and this last cut warmed him thoroughly. 
Now, he was a singularly smart boy, the son 
of a very clever man and a very sensitive wo- 
man, with a fine resolute temper that system- 
atic spoiling had nearly turned to mulish ob- 
stinacy. He looked at the other men, and 
saw that even Dan did not smile. It was evi- 
dently all in the day's work, though it hurt 
abominably ; so he swallowed the hint with 


a gulp and a gasp and a grin. The same 
smartness that led him to take such advantage 
of his mother made him very sure that no one 
on the boat, except, maybe, Penn, would stand 
the least nonsense. One learns a great deal 
from a mere tone. Long Jack called over 
half a dozen more ropes, and Harvey danced 
over the deck like an eel at ebb-tide, one eye 
on Tom Piatt. 

"Ver good. Ver' good done," said Manuel. 
** After supper I show you a little schooner I 
make, with all her ropes. So we shall learn." 

"Fust-class fer — a passenger," said Dan. 
" Dad he 's jest allowed you '11 be wuth your 
salt maybe 'fore you 're draownded. Thet 's 
a heap fer dad. I '11 learn you more our next 
watch together." 

** Taller ! " grunted Disko, peering through 
the fog" as it smoked over the bows. There 
was nothing to be seen ten feet beyond the 
surging jib-boom, while alongside rolled the 
endless procession of solemn, pale waves 
whispering and lipping one to the other. 

" Now I '11 learn you something Long Jack 
can't," shouted Tom Piatt, as from a locker 
by the stern he produced a battered deep-sea 
lead hollowed at one end, smeared the hollow 


from a saucer full of mutton tallow, and went 
forward. " I '11 learn you how to fly the Blue 
Pigeon. Shooo ! " 

Disko did something to the wheel that 
checked the schooner's way, while Manuel, 
with Harvey to help (and a proud boy was 
Harvey), let down the jib in a lump on the 
boom. The lead sung a deep droning song 
as Tom Piatt whirled it round and round. 

" Go ahead, man," said Long Jack, im- 
patiently. " We 're not drawin' twenty-five 
fut off Fire Island in a fog. There 's no 
trick to ut." 

" Don't be jealous, Galway." The released 
lead plopped into the sea far ahead as the 
schooner surged slowly forward. 

" Soundin' is a trick, though," said Dan, 
** when your dipsey lead 's all the eye you 're 
like to hev for a week. What d' you make 
it, dad?" 

Disko's face relaxed. His skill and honor 
were involved in the march he had stolen on 
the rest of the fleet, and he had his reputation 
as a master artist who knew the Banks blind- 
fold. " Sixty, mebbe — ef I 'm any judge," he 
replied, with a glance at the tiny compass in 
the window of the house. 


" Sixty," sung out Tom Piatt, hauling in 
great wet coils. 

The schooner gathered way once more. 
"Heave!" said Disko, after a quarter of 
an hour. 

'* What d' you make it?" Dan whispered, 
and he looked at Harvey proudly. But Har- 
vey was too proud of his own performances 
to be impressed just then. 

** Fifty," said the father. " I mistrust we 're 
right over the nick o' Green Bank on old 

" Fifty ! " roared Tom Piatt. They could 
scarcely see him through the fog. " She 's 
bust within a yard — like the shells at Fort 

" Bait up, Harve," said Dan, diving for a 
line on the reel. 

The schooner seemed to be straying pro- 
miscuously through the smother, her headsail 
banging wildly. The men waited and looked 
at the boys who began fishing. 

" Heugh ! " Dan's lines twitched on the 
scored and scarred rail. " Now haow in 
thunder did dad know? Help us here, 
Harve. It 's a big un. Poke-hooked, too." 
They hauled together, and landed a goggle- 


eyed twenty-pound cod. He had taken the 
bait right into his stomach. 

" Why, he 's all covered with little crabs," 
cried Harvey, turning him over. 

" By the great hook-block, they 're lousy 
already," said Long Jack. ** Disko, ye kape 
your spare eyes under the keel." 

Splash went the anchor, and they all heaved 
over the lines, each man taking his own place 
at the bulwarks. 

"Are they good to eat?" Harvey panted, 
as he lugged in another crab-covered cod. 

" Sure. When they 're lousy it 's a sign 
they 've all been herdin* together by the 
thousand, and when they take the bait that 
way they 're hungry. Never mind how th( 
bait sets. They '11 bite on the bare hook." 

"Say, this is great!" Harvey cried, as the 
fish came in gasping and splashing — nearly 
all poke-hooked, as Dan had said. "Why 
can't we always fish from the boat instead of 
from the dories ? " 

" Alius can, till we begin to dress daown. 
Efter thet, the heads and offals 'u'd scare 
the fish to Fundyf Boat-fishin' ain't reckoned 
progressive, though, unless ye know as much 
as dad knows. Guess we '11 run aout aour 


trawl to-night Harder on the back, this, 
than from the dory, ain't it ? " 

It was rather back-breaking work, for in a 
dory the weight of a cod is water-borne till 
the last minute, and you are, so to speak, 
abreast of him ; but the few feet of a schoon- 
er's freeboard make so much extra dead-haul- 
ing, and stooping over the bulwarks cramps 
. the stomach. But it was wild and furious 
sport so long as it lasted ; and a big pile lay 
aboard when the fish ceased biting. 

"Where's Penn and Uncle Salters?" Har- 
vey asked, slapping the slime off his oilskins, 
and reeling up the line in careful imitation 
of the others. 

" Git 's coffee and see." 

Under the yellow glare of the lamp on the 
pawl -post, the foc'sle table down and opened, 
utterly unconscious of fish or weather, sat. the 
two men, a checker-board between them. 
Uncle Salters snarling at Penn's every 

" What 's the matter naow ? " said the for- 
mer, as Harvey, one hand in the leather loop 
at the head of the ladder, hung shouting to 
the cook. 

" Bi^ fish and lousy — heaps and heaps." 


Harvey replied, quoting Long Jack. " How 's 
the orame ? " 

Little Penn's jaw dropped. " 'T were n't 
none o' his fault," snapped Uncle Salters. 
•' Penn 's deef." 

" Checkers, were n't it ? " said Dan, as 
Harvey staggered aft with the steaming cof- 
fee in a tin pail. "That lets us out o' clean- 
in' up to-night. Dad 's a jest man. They '11 
have to do it." 

"An' two young fellers I know '11 bait up 
a tub or so o' trawl, while they 're cleanin'," 
said Disko, lashing the wheel to his taste. 

" Um ! Guess I 'd ruther clean up, Dad." 

" Don't doubt it. Ye wun't, though. Dress 
daown ! Dress daown ! Penn '11 pitch while 
you two bait up." 

" Why in thunder did n't them blame boys 
tell us you 'd struck on ? " said Uncle Salters, 
shuffling to his place at the table. " This 
knife 's gum-blunt, Dan." 

" Ef stickin' out cable don't wake ye, guess 
you 'd better hire a boy o' your own," said 
Dan, muddling about in the dusk over the 
tubs full of trawl-line lashed to windward of 
the house. " Oh, Harve, don't ye want to 
slip down an' git 's bait ? " 


" Bait ez we are," said Disko. ** I mistrust 
shag-fishin' will pay better, ez things go." 

That meant the boys would bait with 
selected offal of the cod as the fish were 
cleaned — an improvement on paddling bare- 
handed in the little bait-barrels below. The 
tubs were full of neatly coiled line carrying 
a big hook each few feet; and the testing 
and baiting of every single hook, with the 
stowage of the baited line so that it should 
run clear when shot from the dory, was a sci- 
entific business. Dan managed it in the dark, 
without looking, while Harvey caught his 
fingers on the barbs and bewailed his fate. 
But the hooks flew through Dan's fingers like 
tatting on an old maid's lap. " I helped bait 
up trawl ashore 'fore I could well walk," he 
said. " But it 's a putterin' job all the same. 
Oh, dad ! " This shouted towards the hatch, 
where Disko and Tom Piatt were salting. 
** How many skates you reckon we '11 need ? " 

" 'Baout three. Hurry ! " 

"There 's three hundred fathom to each 
tub," Dan explained ; " more 'n enough to lay 
out to-night. Ouch ! 'Slipped up there, I 
did," He stuck his finger in his mouth. " I 
tell you, Harve, there ain't money in Glouces- 


ter 'u'd hire me to ship on a reg'lar trawler. 
It may be progressive, but, barrin' that, it 's 
the putterin'est, slimjammest business top of 

" I don't know what this is, if 't is n't regu- 
lar trawling," said Harvey sulkily. ** My fin- 
gers are all cut to frazzles." 

" Pshaw ! This is jest one o' dad's blame 
experiments. He don't trawl 'less there 's 
mighty good reason fer it. Dad knows. 
Thet 's why he 's baitin' ez he is. We '11 hev 
her saggin' full when we take her up er we 
won't see a fin." 

Penn and Uncle Salters cleaned up as Disko 
had ordained, but the boys profited little. No 
sooner were the tubs furnished than Tom 
Piatt and Long Jack, who had been exploring 
the inside of a dory with a lantern, snatched 
them away, loaded up the tubs and some 
small, painted trawl-buoys, and hove the boat 
overboard into what Harvey regarded as an 
exceedingly rough sea. "They '11 be drowned. 
Why, the dory *s loaded like a freight-car," 
he cried. 

"We '11 be back," said Long Jack, "an' in 
case you '11 not be lookin' for us, we '11 lay 
into you both if the trawl *s snarled." 


The dory surged up on the crest of a wave, 
and just when it seemed impossible that she 
could avoid smashing against the schooner's 
side, slid over the ridge, and was swallowed 
up in the damp dusk, 

"Take ahold here, an' keep ringin' steady," 
said Dan, passing Harvey the lanyard of a 
bell that hung just behind the windlass. 

Harvey rang lustily, for he felt two lives 
depended on him. But Disko in the cabin, 
scrawling in the log-book, did not look like 
a murderer, and when he went to supper he 
even smiled dryly at the anxious Harvey. 

" This ain't no weather," said Dan. "Why, 
you an' me could set thet trawl ! They 've 
only gone out jest far 'nough so 's not to 
foul our cable. They don't need no bell 

" Clang ! cling ! clang ! " Harvey kept It 
up, varied with occasional rub-a-dubs, for an- 
other half-hour. There was a bellow and a 
bump alongside. Manuel and Dan raced to 
the hooks of the dory-tackle ; Long Jack and 
Tom Piatt arrived on deck together, it seemed, 
one half the North Atlantic at their backs, and 
the dory followed them in the air, landing with 
a clatter. 


" Nary snarl," said Tom Piatt as he dripped. 
" Danny, you '11 do yet." 

" The pleasure av your comp'ny to the ban- 
quit," said Long Jack, squelching the water 
from his boots as he capered like an elephant 
and stuck an oil-skinned arm into Harvey's 
face. "We do be condescending to honor 
the second half wid our presence." And off 
they all four rolled to supper, where Harvey 
stuffed himself to the brim on fish-chowder 
and fried pies, and fell fast asleep just as 
Manuel produced from a locker a lovely two- 
foot model of the Lucy Holmes, his first boat, 
and was going to show Harvey the ropes. 
Harvey never even twiddled his fingers as 
Pehn pushed him into his bunk. 

"It must be a sad thing — a very sad 
thing," said Penn, watching the boy's face, 
" for his mother and his father, who think he 
is dead. To lose a child — to lose a man- 
child ! " 

" Git out o' this, Penn," said Dan. " Go 
aft and finish your game with Uncle Salters. 
Tell dad I '11 stand Harve's watch ef he don't 
keen He 's played aout." 

" Ver' good boy," said Manuel, slipping out 
of his boots and disappearing into the black 


shadows of the lower bunk. " Expec' he 
make good man, Danny. I no see he is any 
so mad as your parpa he says. Eh, wha-at? " 

Dan chuckled, but the chuckle ended in a 

It was thick weather outside, with a rising 
wind, and the elder men stretched their 
watches. The hours struck clear in the 
cabin ; the nosing bows slapped and scuffled 
with the seas ; the foc'sle stove-pipe hissed 
and sputtered as the spray caught it ; and the 
boys slept on, while Disko, Long Jack, Tom 
Piatt, and Uncle Salters, each in turn, stumped 
aft to look at the wheel, forward to see that 
the anchor held, or to veer out a little more 
cable against chafing, with a glance at the 
dim anchor-light between each round. 


HARVEY waked to find the " first half" 
at breakfast, the foc'sle door drawn to a 
crack, and every square inch of the^chooner 
singing its own tune. The black bulk of the 
cook balanced behind the tiny galley over the 
glare of the stove, and the pots and pans in 
the pierced wooden board before it jarred and 
racketed to each plunge. Up and up the 
foc'sle climbed, yearning and surging and 
quivering, and then, with a clear, sickle-like 
swoop, came down into the seas. He could 
hear the flaring bows cut and squelch, and 
there was a pause ere the divided waters came 
down on the deck above, like a volley of 
buckshot. Followed the woolly sound of the 
cable in the hawse-hole ; a grunt and squeal 
of the windlass ; a yaw, a punt, and a kick, 
and the We 're Here gathered herself to- 
gether to repeat the motions. 

" Now, ashore," he heard Long Jack say- 


ing, ** ye Ve chores, an' ye must do thim in 
any weather. Here we 're well clear of the 
fleet, an' we 've no chores — an' that 's a 
blessin'. Good night, all." He passed like a 
big snake from the table to his bunk, and be- 
oan to smoke. Tom Piatt followed his ex- 
ample ; Uncle Salters, with Penn, fought his 
way up the ladder to stand his watch, and the 
cook set for the " second half" 

It came out of its bunks as the others had 
entered theirs, with a shake and a yawn. It 
ate till it could eat no more ; and then Man- 
uel filled his pipe with some terrible tobacco, 
crotched himself between the pawl-post and a 
forward bunk, cocked his feet up on the table, 
and smiled tender and indolent smiles at the 
smoke. Dan lay at length in his bunk, wres- 
tling with a gaudy, gilt-stopped accordion, 
whose tunes went up and down with the 
pitching of the We 're Here. The cook, his 
shoulders against the locker where he kept 
the fried pies (Dan was fond of fried pies), 
peeled potatoes, with one eye on the stove in 
event of too much water finding its way down 
the pipe ; and the general smell and_smother 
were past all description. 

Harvey considered affairs, wondered that 


he was not deathly sick, and crawled into his 
bunk again, as the softest and safest place, 
while Dan struck up, " I don't want to play in 
your yard," as accurately as the wild je-ks 

" How long is this for?" Harvey asked of 

" Till she get a little quiet, and we can row 
to trawl. Perhaps to-night. Perhaps two 
days more. You do not like? Eh, wha-at?" 

" I should have been crazy sick a week ago, 
but it does n't seem to upset me now — much." 

" That is because we make you fisherman, 
these days. If I was you, when I come to 
Gloucester I would give two, three big can- 
dles for my good luck." 

** Give who ? " 

"To be sure — the Virgin of our Church 
on the Hill. She is very good to fishermen 
all the time. That is why so few of us Portu- 
gee men ever are drowned." 

" You 're a Roman Catholic, then ? " 

" I am a Madeira man. I am not a Porto 
Pico boy. Shall I be Baptist, then ? Eh, 
wha-at? I always give candles — two, three 
more when I come to Gloucester. The good 
Virgin she never forgets me, Manuel." 


" I don't sense it that way," Tom Piatt 
put in from his bunk, his scarred face lit 
up by the glare of a match as he sucked 
at his pipe. " It stands to reason the 
sea 's the sea ; and you '11 git jest about 
what 's goin', candles or kerosene, fer that 

" 'T is a mighty good thing," said Long 
Jack, " to have a frind at coort, though. 
I 'm o' Manuel's way o' thinkin'. About 
tin years back I was crew to a Sou' Boston 
market-boat. We was off Minot's Ledge 
wid a northeaster, butt first, atop of us, 
thicker 'n burgoo. The ould man was dhrunk, 
his chin waggin' on the tiller, an' I sez to 
myself, ' If iver I stick my boat-huk into 
T-wharf again, I '11 show the saints fwhat 
manner o' craft they saved me out av.' Now, 
I 'm here, as ye can well see, an' the model of 
the dhirty ould Kathleen, that took me a month 
to make, I gave ut to the priest, an' he hung 
ut up forninst the altar. There 's more sense 
in givin' a model that 's by way o' bein' 
a work av art than any candle. Ye can 
buy. candles at store, but a model shows 
the good saints ye 've tuk trouble an' are 


** D* you believe that, Irish?" said Tom 
Piatt, turning on his elbow. 

"Would I do ut if I did not, Ohio?" 

" Wa-al, Enoch Fuller he made a model o' 
the old Ohio, and she 's to Salem museum 
now. Mighty pretty model, too, but I guess 
Enoch he never done it fer no sacrifice ; an' 
the way I take it is — " 

There were the makino-s of an hour-longf 
discussion of the kind that fishermen love, 
where the talk runs in shouting circles and 
no one proves anything at the end, had not 
Dan struck up this cheerful rhyme : 

" Up jumped the mackerel with his striped back. 
Reef in the mainsail, and haul on the tack ; 
For it 's windy weather — " 

Here Long Jack joined in : 

^^ And it 's blowy weather; 
When the winds begin to blow, pipe all hands together ! " 

Dan went on, with a cautious look at 
Tom Piatt, holding the accordion low in the 

" Up jumped the cod with his chuckle-head, 
Went to the main-chains to heave at the lead j 
For it 's windy weather," etc. 


Tom Piatt seemed to be hunting for some- 
thing. Dan crouched lower, but sang louder: 

" Up jumped the flounder that swims to the ground. 
Chuckle-head ! Chuckle-head ! Mind where ye sound ! " 

Tom Piatt's huge rubber boot whirled 
across the foc'sle and caught Dan's uplifted 
arm. There was war between the man and 
the boy ever since Dan had discovered that 
the mere whistling of that tune would make 
him angry as he heaved the lead. 

"Thought I 'd fetch yer," said Dan, return- 
ing the gift with precision. " Ef you don't 
like my music, git out your fiddle. I ain't 
goin' to lie here all day an' listen to you an' 
Long Jack arguin' 'baout candles. Fiddle, 
Tom Piatt; or I '11 learn Harve here the 
tune ! " 

Tom Piatt leaned down to a locker and 
brought up an old white fiddle. Manuel's 
eye glistened, and from somewhere behind 
the pawl-post he drew out a tiny, guitar- 
like thing with wire strings, which he called 
a nachette. 

" 'T is a concert," said Long Jack, beam- 
ing through the smoke. " A reg'lar Boston 

O J. 

: w 


There was a burst of spray as the hatch 
opened, and Disko, in yellow oilskins, de- 

" Ye 're just in time, Disko. Fwhat 's 
she doin' outside ? " 

" Jest this ! " He dropped on to the lock- 
ers with the push and heave of the We 're 

" We 're singin' to kape our breakfasts 
down. Ye '11 lead, av course, Disko," said 
Long Jack. 

" Guess there ain't more 'n 'baout two old 
songs I know, an' ye 've heerd them both." 

His excuses were cut short by Tom Piatt 
launching into a most dolorous tune, like 
unto the moaning of winds and the creaking 
of masts. With his eyes fixed on the beams 
above, Disko began this ancient, ancient 
ditty, Tom Piatt flourishing all round him to 
make the tune and words fit a little : 

" There is a crack packet — crack packet o' fame, 
She hails from Noo York, an' the Dreadtiought 's her 

You may talk o' your fliers — Swallow-tail and Black 

Ball — 
But the Dreadnought 's the packet that can beat them 



" Now the Dreadnought she lies in the River Mersey, 
Because of the tug-boat to take her to sea ; 
But when she 's off soundings you shortly will know 

She 's the Liverpool packet — O Lord, let her go ! 

" Now the Dreadnought she 's howlin' 'crost the Banks o' 
Where the water 's all shallow and the bottom 's all sand. 
Sez all the little fishes that swim to an fro : 

* She 's the Liverpool packet — O Lord, let her go ! * " 

There were scores of verses, for he worked 
the Di'eadnoiight every mile of the way 
between Liverpool and New York as con- 
scientiously as though he were on her deck, 
and the accordion pumped and the fiddle 
squeaked beside him. Tom Piatt followed 
with something about "the rough and tough 
McGinn, who would pilot the vessel in." 
Then they called on Harvey, who felt very 
flattered, to contribute to the entertainment ; 
but all that he could remember were some 
pieces of " Skipper Ireson's Ride " that he 
had been taught at the camp-school in the 
Adirondacks. It seemed that they might be 
appropriate to the time and place, but he had 


no more than mentioned the title when Disko 
brought down one foot with a bang, and cried, 
** Don't go on, young feller. That 's a mis- 
taken jedgment — one o' the worst kind, too, 
becaze it 's catchin' to the ear." 

" I orter ha' warned you," said Dan. " Thet 
alius fetches dad." 

"What's wrong?" said Harvey, surprised 
and a little angry. 

" All you 're goin' to say," said Disko. "All 
dead wrong from start to finish, an' Whittier 
he 's to blame. I have no special call to right 
any Marblehead man, but 't were n't no fault 
o' Ireson's. My father he told me the tale 
time an' again, an' this is the way 't wuz." 

" For the wan hundredth time," put in Long 
Jack under his breath. 

" Ben Ireson he was skipper o' the Betty, 
young feller, comin' home frum the Banks — 
that was before the war of 181 2, but jestice 
is jestice at all times. They fund the Active 
o' Portland, an' Gibbons o' that town he was 
her skipper ; they fund her leakin' off Cape 
Cod Light. There was a terr'ble gale on, an' 
they was gettin' the Betty home 's fast as they 
could craowd her. Well, Ireson he said there 
war n't any sense to reskin' a boat in that sea ; 


the men they would n't hev it ; and he laid it 
before them to stay by the Active till the sea run 
daown a piece. They would n't hev that either, 
hangin' araound the Cape in any sech weather, 
leak or no leak. They jest up stays'l an' 
quit, nat'rally takin' Ireson with 'em. Folks 
to Marblehead was mad at him not runnin' the 
risk, and becaze nex' day, when the sea was 
ca'am (they never stopped to think o' that), 
some of the Actives folk was took off by a 
Truro man. They come into Marblehead with 
their own tale to tell, sayin' how Ireson had 
shamed his town, an' so forth an' so on ; an' 
Ireson's men they was scared, seein' public 
feelin' agin' 'em, an' they went back on Ireson, 
an' swore he was respons'ble for the hull act. 
'T were n't the women neither that tarred and 
feathered him — Marblehead women don't act 
that way — 't was a passel o' men an' boys, an' 
they carted him araound town in an old dory 
till the bottom fell aout, an' Ireson he told 'em 
they 'd be sorry for it some day. Well, the facts 
come aout later, same 's they usually do, too 
late to be any ways useful to an honest man ; 
an' Whittier he come along an' picked up the 
slack eend of a lyin' tale, an' tarred and fea 
thered Ben Ireson all over onct more after he 


was dead. 'T was the only time Whittier ever 
slipped up, an' 't were n't fair. I whaled Dan 
good when he brought that piece back from 
school. You don't know no better, o' course ; 
but I 've give you the facts, hereafter an' ever- 
more to be remembered. Ben Ireson were n't 
no sech kind o' man as Whittier makes aout ; 
my father he knew him well, before an' after 
that business, an' you beware o' hasty jedg- 
ments, young feller. Next ! " 

Harvey had never heard Disko talk so long, 
and collapsed with burning cheeks ; but, as 
Dan said promptly, a boy could only learn 
what he was taught at school, and life was too 
short to keep track of every lie along the coast. 

Then Manuel touched the jangling, jarring 
little nackette to a queer tune, and sang some- 
thing in Portuguese about ''Nina, innocentef' 
ending with a full-handed sweep that brought 
the song up with a jerk. Then Disko obliged 
with his second song, to an old-fashioned 
creaky tune, and all joined in the chorus. 
This is one stanza : 

*' Now Aprile is over and melted the snow, 
And outer Noo Bedford we shortly must towj 
Yes, out o' Noo Bedford we shortly must clear, 
We 're the whalers that never see wheat in the ear." 


Here the fiddle went very softly for a while 
by itself, and then : 

" Wheat-in-the-ear, my true-love's posyblowin'j 
Wheat-in-the-ear, we 're goin' off to sea ; 
Wheat-in-the-ear, I left you fit for sowin' ; 
When I come back a loaf o' bread you '11 be I " 

That made Harvey almost weep, though he 
could not tell why. But it was much worse 
when the cook dropped the potatoes and held 
out his hands for the fiddle. Still leaning 
against the locker door, he struck into a tune 
that was like something very bad but sure to 
happen whatever you did. After a little he 
sang, in an unknown tongue, his big chin 
down on the fiddle-tail, his white eyeballs 
glaring in the lamp-light. Harvey swung out 
of his bunk to hear better ; and amid the 
straining of the timbers and the wash of the 
waters the tune crooned and moaned on, like 
lee surf in a blind fog, till it ended with a 

" Jiminy Christmas ! Thet gives me the 
blue creevles," said Dan. " What in thunder 
is it?" 

"The song of Fin McCoul," said the cook, 
" when he wass going to Norway." His Eng- 


lish was not thick, but all clear-cut, as though 
it came from a phonograph. 

" Faith, I 've l^en to Norway, but I did n't 
make that unwholesim noise. 'T is like some 
of the old songs, though," said Long Jack, 

" Don't let 's hev another 'thout somethin' 
between," said Dan; and the accordion struck 
up a rattling, catchy tune that ended : 

" It 's six an' twenty Sundays sence las' we saw the land, 
With fifteen hunder quintal, 
An' fifteen hunder quintal, 
'Teen hunder toppin' quintal, 
*Twix' old 'Queereau an' Grand I " 

" Hold on ! " roared Tom Piatt. "D' ye 
want to nail the trip, Dan ? That 's Jonah 
sure, 'less you sing it after all our salt 's wet." 

"No, 't ain't. Is it, dad? Not unless you 
sing the very las' verse. You can't learn 77ie 
anything on Jonahs ! " 

"What's that?" said Harvey. "What's 
a Jonah ? " 

"A Jonah's anything that spoils the luck. 
Sometimes it 's a man — sometimes it's a boy — 
or a bucket. I 've known a splittin'-knife Jo- 
nah two trips till we was on to her," said Tom 


Piatt. " There 's all sorts o' Jonahs. Jim 
Bourke was one till he was drowned on 
Georges. I 'd never ship with Jim Bourke, 
not if I was starvin'. There wuz a green dory 
on the Ez7^a Flood. Thet was a Jonah too, 
the worst sort o' Jonah. Drowned four men 
she did, an' used to shine fiery o' nights in 
the nest." 

"And you believe that?" said Harvey, re- 
membering what Tom Piatt had said about 
candles and models. " Have n't we all got 
to take what 's served ? " 

A mutter of dissent ran round the bunks. 
"Outboard, yes; inboard, things can hap- 
pen," said Disko. " Don't you go makin' a 
mock of Jonahs, young feller." 

" Well, Harve ain't no Jonah. Day after 
we catched him," Dan cut in, "we had a 
toppin' good catch." 

The cook threw up his head and laughed 
suddenly — a queer, thin laugh. He was a 
most disconcerting nigger. 

" Murder ! " said Long Jack. " Don't do 
that again, doctor. We ain't used to ut." 

"What 's wrongf?" said Dan. "Ain't he 
our mascot, and did n't they strike on good 
after we 'd struck him ? " 


" Oh ! yess," said the cook. " I know that, 
but the catch iss not finish yet." 

" He ain't goin' to do us any harm," said 
Dan, hotly. " Where are ye hintin' an' edgin' 
to ? He 's all right." 

" No harm. No. But one day he will be 
your master, Danny." 

"That all?" said Dan, placidly. "He 
wun't — not by a jugful." 

" Master! " said the cook, pointing to Har- 
vey. " Man ! " and he pointed to Dan. 

"That 's news. Haow soon?" said Dan, 
with a laugh. 

" In some years, and I shall see it. Master 
and man — man and master." 

" How in thunder d' ye work that out ? " 
said Tom Piatt. 

" In my head, where I can see." 

" Haow ? " This from all the others at once. 

" I do not know, but so it will be." He 
dropped his head, and went on peeling the 
potatoes, and not another word could they 
get out of him. 

"Well," said Dan, "a heap o' things '11 hev 
to come abaout 'fore Harve 's any master o' 
mine ; but I 'm glad the doctor ain't choosen 
to mark him for a Jonah. Now, I mistrust 


Uncle Salters fer the Jonerest Jonah in the 
fleet regardin' his own special luck. Dunno 
ef it 's spreadin' same 's smallpox. He ought 
to be on the Carrie Pitman. That boat 's 
her own Jonah, sure — crews an' gear make 
no differ to her driftin'. Jiminy Christmas! 
She '11 etch loose in a flat ca'am." 

"We 're well clear o' the fleet, anyway," 
said Disko. " Ca^^rie Pitman an' all." There 
was a rapping on the deck. 

" Uncle Salters has catched his luck," said 
Dan as his father departed. 

" It 's blown clear," Disko cried, and all the 
foc'sle tumbled up for a bit of fresh air. The 
fog had gone, but a sullen sea ran in great 
rollers behind it. The We 're Here slid, as it 
were, into long, sunk avenues and ditches 
which felt quite sheltered and homelike if they 
would only stay still ; but they changed with- 
out rest or mercy, and flung up the schooner 
to crown one peak of a thousand gray hills, 
while the wind hooted through her rigging as 
she zigzagged down the slopes. Far away a 
sea would burst in a sheet of foam, and the 
others would follow suit as at a signal, till 
Harvey's eyes swam with the vision of inter- 
lacing whites and grays. Four or five Mother 


Carey's chickens stormed round in circles, 
shrieking as they swept past the bows. A 
rain-squall or two strayed aimlessly over the 
hopeless waste, ran down wind and back 
again, and melted away. 

" Seems to me I saw somethin' flicker jest 
naow over yonder," said Uncle Salters, point- 
ing to the northeast. 

" Can't be any of the fleet," said Disko, 
peering under his eyebrows, a hand on the 
foc'sle gangway as the solid bows hatcheted 
into the troughs. " Sea 's oilin' over dretful 
fast. Danny, don't you want to skip up a 
piece an' see how aour trawl-buoy lays ? " 

Danny, in his big boots, trotted rather than 
climbed up the main rigging (this consumed 
Harvey with envy), hitched himself around 
the reeling cross-trees, and let his eye rove 
till it caught the tiny black buoy-flag on the 
shoulder of a mile-away swell. 

"She's all right," he hailed. "Sail O! 
Dead to the no'th'ard, comin' down like 
smoke ! Schooner she be, too." 

They waited yet another half- hour, the sky 
clearing in patches, with a flicker of sickly 
sun from time to time that made patches of 
olive-green water. Then a stump-foremast 


lifted, ducked, and disappeared, to be followed 
on the next wave by a high stern with old- 
fashioned wooden snail's-horn davits. The 
sails were red-tanned. 

" Frenchmen ! " shouted Dan. " No, 't ain't, 
neither. Da-ad ! " 

"That 's no French," said Disko. " Sal- 
ters, your blame luck holds tighter 'n a screw 
in a keg-head." 

" I 've eyes. It 's Uncle Abishai." 

" You can't nowise tell fer sure." 

"The head-king of all Jonahs," groaned 
Tom Piatt. " Oh, Salters, Salters, why was n't 
you abed an' asleep ? " 

"How could I tell?" said poor Salters, as 
the schooner swung up. 

She might have been the very Flyi7tg 
Dutchman, so foul, draggled, and unkempt 
was every rope and stick aboard. Her old- 
style quarterdeck was some four or five feet 
high, and her rigging flew knotted and tan- 
gled like weed at a wharf-end. She was run- 
ning before the wind — yawing frightfully — 
her staysail let down to act as a sort of extra 
foresail, — "scandalized," they call it, — and her 
foreboom guyed out over the side. Her 
bowsprit cocked up like an old-fashioned 


frigate's ; her jib-boom had been fished and 
spliced and nailed and clamped beyond fur- 
ther repair ; and as she hove herself forward, 
and sat down on her broad tail, she looked 
for all the world like a blouzy, frouzy, bad old 
woman sneering at a decent girl. 

"That 's Abishai," said Salters. "Full o' 
gin an' Judique men, an' the judgments o' 
Providence layin' fer him an' never takin' 
good holt. He 's run in to bait, Miquelon 

" He '11 run her under," said Long Jack 
"That 's no rig fer this weather." 

"Not he, 'r he 'd 'a' done it long ago," Disko 
replied. " Looks 's if he cal'lated to run us 
under. Ain't she daown by the head more 'n 
natural, Tom Piatt ? " 

" Ef it 's his style o' loadin' her she ain't 
safe," said the sailor slowly. " Ef she 's 
spewed her oakum he 'd better git to his 
pumps mighty quick." 

The creature threshed up, wore round with 
a clatter and rattle, and lay head to wind 
within ear- shot. 

A gray-beard wagged over the bulwark, 
and a thick voice yelled something Harvey 
could not understand. But Disko's face dark- 


ened. " He 'd resk every stick he hez to 
carry bad news. Says we 're in fer a shift o' 
wind. He 's in fer worse. Abishai ! Abi- 
shai ! " He waved his arm up and down with 
the gesture of a man at the pumps, and pointed 
forward. The crew mocked him and laughed. 

" Jounce ye, an' strip ye, an' trip ye ! " 
yelled Uncle Abishai. "Alivin'gale — a livin' 
gale. Yah ! Cast up fer your last trip, all 
you Gloucester haddocks. You won't see 
Gloucester no more, no more ! " 

"Crazy full — as usual," said Tom Piatt. 
" Wish he had n't spied us, though." 

She drifted out of hearing while the gray- 
head yelled something about a dance at the 
Bay of Bulls and a dead man in the foc'sle 
Harvey shuddered. He had seen the sloven 
tilled decks and the savage-eyed crew. 

"An' that 's a fine little floatin' hell fer her 
draught," said Long Jack. " I wondher what 
mischief he 's been at ashore." 

" He 's a trawler," Dan explained to Har- 
vey, " an' he runs in fer bait all along the 
coast. Oh, no, not home, he don't go. He 
deals along the south an' east shore up yon- 
der." He nodded in the direction of the piti- 
less Newfoundland beaches. " Dad won't 


never take me ashore there. They 're a mighty 
tough crowd — an' Ablshai 's the toughest. 
You saw his boat ? Well, she 's nigh seventy 
year old, they say ; the last o' the old Marble- 
head heel-tappers. They don't make them 
quarterdecks any more. Abishai don't use 
Marblehead, though. He ain't wanted there. 
He jes* drif's araound, in debt, trawlin' an' 
cussin' like you 've heard. Bin a Jonah fer 
years an' years, he hez. 'Gits liquor frum the 
Feecamp boats fer makin' spells an' selling 
winds an* such truck. Crazy, I guess." 

**'T won't be any use underrunnin' the 
trawl to-night," said Tom Piatt, with quiet 
despair. ** He come alongside special to 
cuss us. I 'd give my wage an' share to see 
him at the gangway o' the old Ohio 'fore we 
quit floggin'. Jest abaout six dozen, an' Sam 
Mocatta layin' 'em on criss-cross ! " 

The disheveled "heel-tapper" danced 
drunkenly down wind, and all eyes followed 
her. Suddenly the cook cried in his phono- 
graph voice: "It wass his own death made 
him speak so ! He iss fey — fey, I tell you ! 
Look!" She sailed into a patch of watery 
sunshine three or four miles distant. The 
patch dulled and faded nnt. and even as the 


light passed so did the schooner. She 
dropped into a hollow and — was not. 

"Run under, by the Great Hook-Block!" 
shouted Disko, jumping aft. " Drunk or 
sober, we 've got to help 'em. Heave short 
and break her out 1 Smart ! " 

Harvey was thrown on the deck by the 
shock that followed the setting of the jib and 
foresail, for they hove short on the cable, and 
to save time, jerked the anchor bodily from 
the bottom, heaving in as they moved away. 
This is a bit of brute force seldom resorted to 
except in matters of life and death, and the 
little We 're Here complained like a human. 
They ran down to where Abishai's craft had 
vanished; found two or three trawl-tubs, a 
-gin-bottle, and a stove-in dory, but nothing 
more. " Let 'em go," said Disko, though no 
one had hinted at picking them up. " I 
would n't hev a match that belonged to Abi- 
shai aboard. Guess she run clear under. 
Must ha' been spewin' her oakum fer a week, 
an' they never thought to pump her. That 's 
one more boat gone along o' leavin' port all 
hands drunk." 

" Glory be ! " said Long Jack. " We 'd ha 
been obliged to help 'em if they was top o* 


"'Thinkin' o' that myself," said Tom Piatt. 

"Fey! Fey!" said the cook, rolling his 
eyes. " He hass taken his own luck with 

"Ver' good thing, I think, to tell the Fleet 
when we see. Eh, wha-at ? " said Manuel. 
" If you runna that way before the wind, and 
she work open her seams — " He threw out 
his hands with an indescribable gesture, while 
Penn sat down on the house and sobbed at 
the sheer horror and pity of it all. Harvey 
could not realize that he had seen death on 
the open waters, but he felt very sick. 

Then Dan went up the cross-trees, and 
Disko steered them back to within sight of 
their own trawl-buoys just before the fog 
blanketed the sea once again. 

" We go mighty quick hereabouts when 
we do go," was all he said to Harvey. '* You 
think on that fer a spell, young feller. That 
was liquor." 

After dinner it was calm enough to fish 
from the decks, — Penn and Uncle Salters were 
very zealous this time, — and the catch was 
large and large fish. 

" Abishai has shorely took his luck with 
him." said Salters. " The wind hain't backed 


ner riz ner nothin'. How abaout the trawl ? 
I despise superstition, anyway." 

Tom Piatt insisted that they had much bet- 
ter haul the thing and make a new berth. 
But the cook said : " The luck iss in two 
pieces. You will find it so when you look. 
/ know." This so tickled Long Jack that he 
overbore Tom Piatt, and the two went out 

Underrunniirg a trawl means pulling it in 
on one side of the dory, picking off the fish, 
rebaiting the hooks, and passing them back 
to the sea again — something like pinning and 
unpinning linen on a wash-line. It is a 
lengthy business and rather dangerous, for 
the long, sagging line may twitch a boat un- 
der in a flash. But when they heard, "And 
naow to thee, O Capting," booming out of the 
fog, the crew of the We're Hei^e. took heart. 
The dory swirled alongside well loaded, Tom 
Piatt yelling for Manuel to act as relief-boat. 

"The luck 's cut square in two pieces," said 
Long Jack, forking in the fish, while Harvey 
stood open-mouthed at the skill with which 
the plunging dory was saved from destruction. 
" One half was jest punkins. Tom Piatt 
wanted to haul her an' ha' done wid ut ; but I 


said, * I '11 back the doctor that has the second 
sight,' an' the other half come up sagging full 
o' big uns. Hurry, Man'nie, an' bring 's a 
tub o' bait. There 's luck afloat to-night." 

The fish bit at the newly baited hooks from 
which their brethren had just been taken, and 
Tom Piatt and Long Jack moved methodically 
up and down the length of the trawl, the boat's 
nose surging under the wet line of hooks, 
stripping the sea-cucumbers that they called 
pumpkins, slatting off the fresh-caught cod 
against the gunwale, rebaiting, and loading 
Manuel's dory till dusk. 

" I '11 take no risks," said Disko then — " not 
with him floatin' around so near. Abishai 
won't sink fer a week. Heave in the dories, 
an' we '11 dress daown after supper." 

That was a mighty dressing-down, attended 
by three oj four blowing grampuses. It lasted 
till nine o'clock, and Disko was thrice heard 
to chuckle as Harvey pitched the split fish 
into the hold. 

" Say, you 're haulin' ahead dretful fast," 
said Dan, when they ground the knives after 
the men had turned in. " There 's somethin' 
of a sea to-night, an' I hain't heard you make 
no remarks on it." 


"Too busy," Harvey replied, testing a 
blade's edge. " Come to think of it, she is 
a high-kicker." 

The little schooner was gamboling all 
around her anchor among the silver-tipped 
waves. Backing with a start of affected sur- 
prise at the sight of the strained cable, she 
pounced on it like a kitten, while the spray 
of her descent burst through the hawse-holes 
with the report of a gun. Shaking her head, 
she would say : " Well, I 'm sorry I can't stay 
any longer with you. I 'm going North," and 
would sidle off, halting suddenly with a dra- 
matic rattle of her rigging, "As I was just 
going to observe," she would begin, as gravely 
as a drunken man addressing a lamp-post. The 
rest of the sentence (she acted her words in 
dumb-show, of course) was lost in a fit of the 
fidgets, when she behaved like a puppy chew- 
ing a string, a clumsy woman in a side-saddle, 
a hen with her head cut off, or a cow stung by a 
hornet, exactly as the whims of the sea took her. 

" See her sayin' her piece. She 's Patrick 
Henry naow," said Dan. 

She swung sideways on a roller, and ges- 
ticulated with her jib-boom from port to star- 


«<But — ez — fer — me, give me liberty — er 
give me — death ! " 

Wop ! She sat down in the moon-path on 
the water, courtesying with a flourish of pride 
impressive enough had not the wheel-gear 
sniggered mockingly in its box. 

Harvey laughed aloud. "Why, it 's just as 
if she was alive," he said. 

" She 's as stiddy as a haouse an' as dry as 
a herrin'," said Dan enthusiastically, as he was 
slung across the deck in a batter of spray. 
*• Fends 'em off an' fends 'em off, an' * Don't 
ye come anigh me,' she sez. Look at her — 
jest look at her ! Sakes ! You should see 
one o' them toothpicks histin' up her anchor 
on her spike outer fifteen-fathom water." 

" What 's a toothpick, Dan ? " 

"Them new haddockers an' herrin'-boats. 
Fine 's a yacht forward, with yacht sterns to 
'em, an' spike bowsprits, an' a haouse that 'u'd 
take our hold. I 've heard that Burgess him- 
self he made the models fer three or four of 
'em. Dad 's sot agin 'em on account o' their 
pitchin' an' joltin', but there 's heaps o' money 
in 'em. Dad can find fish, but he ain't no 
ways progressive — he don't go with the 
march o' the times. They 're chock-full o' 


labor-savin' jigs an' sech all. 'Ever seed the 
Elector o' Gloucester ? She 's a daisy, ef she 
is a toothpick." 

"What do they cost, Dan?" 

" Hills o' dollars. Fifteen thousand, p'haps ; 
more, mebbe. There 's gold-leaf an' every- 
thing you kin think of" Then to himself, 
half under his breath, " Guess I 'd call her 
Hattie S., too." 


THAT was the first of many talks with 
Dan, who told Haixey why he would 
transfer his dory's name to the imaginary 
Burgess-modeled haddocker. Harvey heard a 
good deal about the real Hattie at Glouces- 
ter; saw a lock of her hair — which Dan, 
finding fair words of no avail, had " hooked " 
as she sat in front of him at school that win- 
ter — and a photograph. Hattie was about 
fourteen years old, with an awful contempt 
for boys, and had been trampling on Dan's 
heart through the winter. All this was re- 
vealed under oath of solemn secrecy on moon- 
lit decks, in the dead dark, or in choking fog; 
the whining wheel behind them, the climb- 
ing deck before, and without, the unresting, 
clamorous sea. Once, of course, as the boys 
came to know each other, there was a fio^ht 
which raged from bow to stern till Penn 
came up and separated them, but promised 


not to tell Disko, who thought fighting on 
watch rather worse than sleeping. Harvey 
was no match for Dan physically, but it says 
a great deal for his new training that he took 
his defeat and did not try to get even with his 
conqueror by underhand methods. 

That was after he had been cured of a 
string of boils between his elbows and wrists, 
where the wet jersey and oilskins cut into the 
flesh. The salt water stung them unpleas- 
antly, but when they were ripe Dan treated 
them with Disko's razor, and assured Harvey 
that now he was a "blooded Banker"; the 
affliction of gurry-sores being the mark of the 
caste that claimed him. 

Since he was a boy and very busy, he did 
not bother his head with too much thinking. 
He was exceedingly sorry for his mother, and 
often longed to see her and above all to tell 
her of this wonderful new life, and how bril- 
liantly he was acquitting himself in it. Other- 
wise he preferred not to wonder too much 
how she was bearing the shock of his sup- 
posed death. But one day, as he stood on 
the foc'sle ladder, guying the cook, who had 
accused him and Dan of hooking fried pies, it 
occurred to him that this was a vast improve- 


ment on being snubbed by strangers in the 
smoking-room of a hired Hner. 

He was a recognized part of the scheme 
of things on the We 're Here ; had his place 
at the table and among the bunks ; and could 
hold his own in the long talks on stormy days, 
when the others were always ready to listen 
to what they called his " fairy-tales " of his 
life ashore. It did not take him more than 
twa days and a quarter to feel that if he 
spoke of his own life — it seemed very far 
away — no one except Dan (and even Dan's 
belief was sorely tried) credited him. So he 
invented a friend, a boy he had heard of, who 
drove a miniature four-pony drag in Toledo, 
Ohio, and ordered five suits of clothes at a 
time, and led things called "germans" at 
parties where the oldest girl was not quite 
fifteen, but all the presents were solid silver. 
Salters protested that this kind of yarn was 
desperately wicked, if not indeed positively 
blasphemous, but he listened as greedily as 
the others ; and their criticisms at the end 
gave Harvey entirely new notions on " ger- 
mans," clothes, cigarettes with gold-leaf tips, 
rings, watches, scent, small dinner-parties, 
champagne, card-playing, and hotel accommo- 


dation. Little by little he changed his tone 
when speaking of his "friend," whom Long 
Jack had christened "the Crazy Kid," "the 
Gilt-edged Baby," "the Suckin' Vanderpoop," 
and other pet names ; and with his sea-booted 
feet cocked up on the table would even invent 
histories about silk pajamas and specially im- 
ported neckwear, to the "friend's" discredit. 
Harvey was a very adaptable person, with a keen 
eye and ear for every face and tone about him. 
Before long he knew where Disko kept 
the old green-crusted quadrant that they 
called the "hog-yoke" — under the bed-bag 
In his bunk. When he took the sun, and 
with the help of "The Old Farmer's" alma- 
nac found the latitude, Harvey would jump 
down into the cabin and scratch the reckon- 
Ine and date with a nail on the rust of the 
stove-pipe. Now, the chief engineer of the 
liner could have done no more, and no engi- 
neer of thirty years' service could have as- 
sumed one half of the ancient-mariner air 
with which Harvey, first careful to spit over 
the side, made public the schooner's position 
for that day, and then and not till then re- 
lieved Disko of the quadrant. There is an 
etiquette in all these things. 


The said " hog-yoke," an Eldridge chart, the 
farming almanac, Blunt's " Coast Pilot," and 
Bowditch's "Navigator" were all the weapons 
Disko needed to guide him, except the deep- 
sea lead that was his spare eye. Harvey nearly 
slew Penn with it when Tom Piatt taught 
him first how to "fly the blue pigeon"; and, 
though his strength was not equal to continu- 
ous sounding in any sort of a sea, for calm 
weather with a seven-pound lead on shoal 
water Disko used him freely. As Dan said : 
"'T ain't soundin's dad wants. It 's samples. 
Grease her up good, Harve." Harvey would 
tallow the cup at the end, and carefully bring 
the sand, shell, sludge, or whatever it might 
be, to Disko, who fingered and smelt it and 
gave judgment. As has been said, when 
Disko thought of cod he thought as a cod ; 
and by some long-tested mixture of instinct 
and experience, moved the We 're Here from 
berth to berth, always with the fish, as a 
blindfolded chess-player moves on the unseen 

But Disko's board was the Grand Bank — 
a triangle two hundred and fifty miles on each 
side — a waste of wallowing sea, cloaked with 
dank fog, vexed with gales, harried with 


drifting ice, scored by the tracks of the reck- 
less Hners, and dotted with the sails of the 

For days they worked in fog — Harvey at 
the bell — till, grown familiar with the thick airs, 
he went out with Tom Piatt, his heart rather 
in his mouth. But the fog would not lift, 
and the fish were biting, and no one can stay 
helplessly afraid for six hours at a time. Har- 
vey devoted himself to his lines and the gaff 
or gob-stick as Tom Piatt called for them ; 
and they rowed back to the schooner guided 
by the bell and Tom's instinct ; Manuel's 
conch sounding thin and faint beside them. 
But it was an unearthly experience, and, for 
the first time in a month, Harvey dreamed 
of the shifting, smoking floors of water round 
the dory, the lines that strayed away into 
nothing, and the air above that melted on the 
sea below ten feet from his straining eyes. 
A few days later he was out with Manuel on 
what should have been forty-fathom bottom, 
but the whole length of the roding ran out, 
and still the anchor found nothing, and Har- 
vey grew mortally afraid, for that his last 
touch with earth was lost. "Whale-hole," 
said Manuel, hauling in. " That is good joke 



on Disko. Come ! " and he rowed to the 
schooner to find Tom Piatt and the others 
jeering at the skipper because, for once, he 
had led them to the edge of the barren Whale- 
deep, the blank hole of the Grand Bank. 
They made another berth through the fog, 
and that time the hair of Harvey's head stood 
up when he went out in Manuel's dory. A 
whiteness moved in the whiteness of the 
fog;_ with a breath like the breath of the 
grave, and there was a roaring, a plunging, 
and spouting. It was his^rst introduction 
to the dread summer berg of the Banks, and 
he cowered^ia the bottom of the boat while 
IVIanuel laughed. There were days, though, 
clear and soft and warm, when it seemed a sin 
to do anything but loaf over the hand-lines 
and spank the drifting "sun-scalds" with an 
oar ; and there were days of light airs, when 
Harvey was taught how to steer the schooner 
from one berth to another. 

It thrilled through him when he first felt 
the keel answer to his hand on the spokes 
and slide over the long hollows as the fore- 
sail scythed back and forth against the blue 
sky. That was magnificent, in spite of Disko 
saying that it would break a snake's back to 


follow his wake. But, as usual, pride ran 
before a fall. They were sailing on the wind 
with the staysail — an old one, luckily — set, 
and Harvey jammed her right into it to show 
Dan how completely he had mastered the 
art. The foresail went over with a bang, and 
the foregaff stabbed and ripped through the 
staysail, which was, of course, prevented from 
going over by the mainstay. They lowered 
the wreck in awful silence, and Harvey spent 
his leisure hours for the next few days under 
Tom Piatt's lee, learning to use a needle and 
palm. Dan hooted with joy, for, as he said, 
he had made the very same blunder himself 
in his early days. 

/^oylike, Harvey imitated all the men by 
turns, till he had combined Disko's peculiar 
stoop at the wheel. Long Jack's swinging 
overhand when the lines were hauled, Man- 
uel's round-shouldered but effective stroke in 
a dory, and Tom Piatt's generous Ohio stride 
along the deck. 

" 'T is beautiful to see how he takes to ut," 
said Long Jack, when Harvey was looking 
out by the windlass one thick noon. ** I '11 
lay my wage an' share 't is more 'n half play- 
actin' to him, an' he consates himself he 's a 


bowld mariner. Watch his Httle bit av a 
back now ! " 

"That 's the way we all begin," said Tom 
Piatt. "The boys they make believe all the 
time till they 've cheated 'emselves into bein' 
men, an' so till they die — pretendin' an' pre- 
tendin'. / done it on the old Ohio, I know. 
Stood my first watch — harbor-watch — feelin' 
finer 'n Farragut. Dan 's fiill o' the same 
kind o' notions. See 'em now, actin' to be 
genewine moss-backs — every hair a rope- 
yarn an' blood Stockholm tar." He spoke 
down the cabin stairs. " Guess you 're mis- 
took in your judgments fer once, Disko. What 
in Rome made ye tell us all here the kid was 
crazy ? " 

" He wuz," Disko replied. " Crazy ez a 
loon when he come aboard ; but I '11 say he 's 
sobered up consid'ble sence. I cured him." 

" He yarns good," said Tom Piatt. " T' other 
night he told us abaout a kid of his own size 
steerin' a cunnin' little rig an' four ponies up 
an' down Toledo, Ohio, I think 't was, an' 
givin' suppers to a crowd o' sim'lar kids. 
Cur'^us kind o' fairy-tale, but blame interestin'. 
He knows scores of 'em." 

"Guess he strikes 'em outen his own head," 


Disko called from the cabin, where he was 
busy with the log-book. " Stands to reason 
that sort is all made up. It don't take in no 
one but Dan, an' he laughs at it. I 've heard 
him, behind my back." 

" Y' ever hear what Sim'on Peter Ca'houn 
said when they whacked up a match 'twix' his 
sister Hitty an Lorin' Jerauld, an' the boys 
put up that joke on him daown to Georges ? " 
drawled Uncle Salters, who was dripping 
peaceably under the lee of the starboard 

Tom Piatt puffed at his pipe in scornful 
silence : he was a Cape Cod man, and had 
not known that tale more than twenty years. 
Uncle Salters went on with a rasping chuckle: 

" Sim'on Peter Ca'houn he said, an' he was 
jest right, abaout Lorin', 'Ha'af on the taown,' 
he said, * an' t' other ha'af blame fool; an' they 
told me she 's married a 'ich man.' Sim'on 
Peter Ca'houn he hed n't no roof to his mouth, 
an' talked that way." 

" He did n't talk any Pennsylvania Dutch," 
Tom Piatt replied. " You 'd better leave a 
Cape man to tell that tale. The Ca'houns 
was gypsies frum 'way back." 

"Wal, I don't profess to be any elocution- 


ist," Salters said. "I 'm comin' to the moral 
o' things. That 's jest abaout what aour 
Harve be ! Ha'af on the taown, an' t' other 
ha'af blame fool ; an' there 's some '11 believe 
he 's a rich man. Yah ! " 

" Did ye ever think how sweet 't would be 
to sail wid a full crew o' Salterses ? " said 
Long Jack. " Ha'af in the furrer an' other 
ha'af in the muck-heap, as Ca'houn did not 
say, an' makes out he 's a fisherman ! " 

A little laugh went round at Salters's ex- 

Disko held his tongue, and wrought over 
the log-book that he kept in a hatchet-faced, 
square hand ; this was the kind of thing that 
ran on, page after soiled page : 

''July 17. This day thick fog and few 
fish. Made berth to northward. So ends this 

''July 18. This day comes in with thick 
fog. Caught a few fish. 

"July 19. This day comes in with light 
breeze from N. E. and fine weather. Made 
a berth to eastward. Caught plenty fish. 

"July 20. This, the Sabbath, conies in 
with fog and light winds. So ends this day. 
Total fish caught this week, 3,478." 


They never worked on Sundays, but 
shaved, and washed themselves if it were 
fine, and Pennsylvania sang hymns. Once 
or twice he suggested that, if it was not an 
impertinence, he thought he could preach a 
little. Uncle Salters nearly jumped down his 
throat at the mere notion, reminding him that 
he was not a preacher and must n't think of 
such things. "We 'd hev him rememberin' 
Johnstown next," Salters explained, " an' 
what would happen then ? " So they com- 
promised on his reading aloud from a book 
called "Josephus." It was an old leather- 
bound volume, smelling of a hundred voyages, 
very solid and very like the Bible, but en- 
livened with accounts of battles and sieges ; 
and they read it nearly from cover to cover. 
Otherwise Penn was a silent little body. He 
would not utter a word for three days on end 
sometimes, though he played checkers, lis- 
tened to the songs, and laughed at the stories. 
When they tried to stir him up, he would 
answer: " I don't wish to seem unneighborly, 
but it is because I have nothing to say. My 
head feels quite empty. I 've almost for- 
gotten my name." He would turn to Uncle 
Salters with an expectant smile. 

o i 


"Why, Pennsylvania Pratty' Salters would 
shout. " You '11 fergit me next ! " 

"No — never," Penn would say, shutting 
his lips firmly. " Pennsylvania Pratt, of 
course," he would repeat over and over. 
Sometimes it was Uncle Salters who forgot, 
and told him he was Haskins or Rich or 
McVitty; but Penn was equally content — 
till next time. 

He was always very tender with Harvey, 
whom he pitied both as a lost child and as a 
lunatic ; and when Salters saw that Penn liked 
the boy, he relaxed, too. Salters was not an 
amiable person (he esteemed it his business 
to keep the boys in order) ; and the first time 
Harvey, in fear and trembling, on a still day, 
managed to shin up to the main-truck (Dan 
was behind him ready to help), he esteemed 
It his duty to hang Salters's big sea-boots up 
there — a sight of shame and derision to the 
nearest schooner. With Disko, Harvey took 
no liberties ; not even when the old man 
dropped direct orders, and treated him, like 
the rest of the crew, to "Don't you want to do 
so and so?" and "Guess you 'd better," and 
so forth. There was something about the 
clean-shaven lips and the puckered corners 


of the eyes that was mightily sobering to 
young blood. 

Disko showed him the meaning of the 
thumbed and pricked chart, which, he said, 
laid over any government publication whatso- 
ever ; led him, pencil in hand, from berth to 
berth over the whole string of banks — Le 
Have, Western, Banquereau, St. Pierre, Green, 
and Grand — talking "cod " meantime. Taught 
him, too, the principle on which the " hog- 
yoke " was worked. 

In this Harvey excelled Dan, for he had 
inherited a head for figures, and the notion of 
stealing information from one glimpse of the 
sullen Bank sun appealed to all his keen wits. 
For other sea-matters his age handicapped 
him. As Disko said, he should have begun 
when he was ten. Dan could bait up trawl 
or lay his hand on any rope in the dark ; and 
at a pinch, when Uncle Salters had a gurry-sore 
on his palm, could dress down by sense of 
touch. He could steer in anything short of 
half a gale from the feel of the wind on his 
face, humoring the We 're Here just when she 
needed it. These thino-s he did as automati- 
cally as he skipped about the rigging, or 
made his dory a part of his own will and body. 


But he could not communicate his knowledge 
to Harvey. 

Still there was a good deal of general in- 
formation flying about the schooner on stormy 
days, when they lay up in the foc'sle or sat 
on the cabin lockers, while spare eye-bolts, 
leads, and rings rolled and rattled in the 
pauses of the talk. Disk o spoke of whaling 
voyages in the Fifties ; of great she-whales 
slain beside their young ; of death agonies 
on the black, tossing seas, and blood that 
spurted forty feet in the air ; of boats smashed 
to splinters ; of patent rockets that went off 
wrong-end -first and bombarded the trembling 
crews; of cutting-in and boiling-down, and that 
terrible " nip" of '71, when twelve hundred men 
were made homeless on the ice in three days 
— wonderful tales, all true. But more won- 
derful still were his stories of the cod, and 
how they argued and reasoned on their pri- 
vate businesses deep down below the keel. 

L ong Jack's tastes ran more to the super- 
natural. He held them silent with ghastly 
stories of the "Yo-hqes" on Monomoy Beach, 
that mockand terrify lonely clam-diggers; of 
sand-walkers and dune-haunters who were 
never properly buried ; of hidden treasure on 


Fire Island guarded by the spirits of Kidd's 
men; of ships that sailed in the fog straight 
over Truro township; of that harbor in Maine 
where no one but a stranger will He at an- 
chor twice in a certain place because of a 
dead crew who row alongside at midnight 
with the anchor in the bow of their old-fash- 
ioned boat, whistling — not calling, but whist- 
ling — for the soul of the man who broke their 

Harvey had a notion that the east coast of 
his native land, from Mount Desert south, 
was populated chiefly by people who took 
their horses there in the summer and enter- 
tained in country-houses with hardwood floors 
and Vantine portieres. He laughed at the 
ghost-tales, — not as much as he would have 
done a month before, — but ended by .sitting 
still and shuddering. 

Tom Piatt dealt with his interminable trip 
round the Horn on the old Ohio in the flogging 
days, with a navy more extinct than the dodo 
— the navy that passed away in the great war. 
He told them how red-hot shot are dropped 
into a cannon, a wad of wet clay between 
them and the cartridge; how they sizzle and 
reek when they strike wood, and how the little 


ship -boys of the Miss Jim Buck hove water 
over them and shouted to the fort to try- 
again. And he told tales of blockade — long 
weeks of swaying at anchor, varied only by 
the departure and return of steamers that 
had used up their coal (there was no change 
for the sailing-ships); of gales and cold — 
cold that kept two hundred men, night and 
day, pounding and chopping at the ice on 
cable, blocks, and rigging, when the galley 
was as red-hot as the fort's shot, and men 
drank cocoa by the bucket. Tom Piatt had 
no use for steam. His service closed when 
that thing was comparatively new. He ad- 
mitted that it was a specious invention in 
time of peace, but looked hopefully for the 
day when sails should come back again on 
ten-thousand-ton frigates with hundred-and- 
ninety-foot booms. 

Manuel's talk was slow and gentle — all 
about pretty girls in Madeira washing clothes 
in the dry beds of streams, by moonlight, 
under waving bananas ; legends of saints, 
and tales of queer dances or fights away in 
the cold Newfoundland baiting-ports. Sal- 
ters was mainly agricultural ; for, though he 
read ** Josephus " and expounded it, his mis- 


sion in life was to prove the value of green 
manures, and specially of clover, against 
every form of phosphate whatsoever. He 
grew libellous about phosphates ; he dragged 
greasy *' Orange Judd " books from his bunk 
and intoned them, wagging his finger at Har- 
vey, to whom it was all Greek. Little Penn 
was so genuinely pained when Harvey made 
fun of Salters's lectures that the boy gave it 
up, and suffered in polite silence. That was 
very good for Harvey. 

The^ook naturally did not join in these 
conversations. As a rule, he spoke only 
when it was absolutely necessary ; but at 
times a queer gift of speech descended on 
him, and he held forth, half in Gaelic, half 
in broken English, an hour at a time. He 
was specially communicative with the boys, 
and he never withdrew his prophecy that one 
day Harvey would he Dan's master, and that 
he would see it. He told them of mail- 
carrying in the winter up Cape Breton way, 
of the dog-train that goes to Coudray, and 
of the ram-steamer Arctic, that breaks the 
ice between the mainland and Prince Edward 
Island. Then he told them stories that his 
mother had told him, of life far to the south- 


ward, where water never froze ; and he said 
that when he died his soul would go to lie 
down on a warm white beach of sand with 
palm-trees waving above. That seemed to 
the boys a very odd idea for a man who had 
never seen a palm in his life. Then, too, 
regularly at each meal, he would ask Harvey, 
and Harvey alone, whether the cooking was 
to his taste ; and this always made the " sec- 
ond half" laugh. Yet they had a great respect 
for the cook's judgment, and in their hearts 
considered Harvey something of a mascot by 

And while Harvey was taking in know- 
ledge of new things at each pore and hard 
health with every gulp of the good air, the 
We 're Here went her ways and did her 
business on the Bank, and the silvery-gray 
kenches of well-pressed fish mounted higher 
and higher in the hold. No one day's work 
was out of the common, but the average days 
were many and close together. 

Naturally, a man of Disko's reputation was 
closely watched — '* scrowged upon," Dan 
called it — by his neighbors, but he had a 
very pretty knack of giving them the slip 
through the curdling, glidy fog-banks. Disko 


avoided company for two reasons. He wished 
to make his own experiments, in the first 
place ; and in the second, he objected to the 
mixed gatherings of a fleet of all nations. 
The bulk of them were mainly Gloucester 
boats, with a scattering from Provincetown, 
Harwich, Chatham, and some of the Maine 
ports, but the crews drew from goodness 
knows where. Risk breeds recklessness, and 
when greed is added there are fine chances 
for every kind of accident in the crowded 
fleet, which, like a mob of sheep, is huddled 
round some unrecognized leader. " Let the 
two Jeraulds lead 'em," said Disko. "We're 
baound to lay among 'em fer a spell on the 
Eastern Shoals ; though ef luck holds, we won't 
hev to lay long. Where we are naow, Harve, 
ain't considered noways good graound." 

" Ain't it ? " said Harvey, who was drawing 
water (he had learned just how to wiggle the 
bucket), after an unusually long dressing- 
down. " Should n't mind striking some poor 
ground for a change, then." 

"All the graound I want to see — don't 
want to strike her — is Eastern Point," said 
Dan. " Say, dad, it looks 's if we would n't 
hev to lay more *n two weeks on the Shoals. 


You *11 meet all the comp'ny you want then, 
Harve. That 's the time we begin to work. 
No reg'lar meals fer no one then. 'Mug-up 
when ye 're hungry, an' sleep when ye can't 
keep awake. Good job you was n't picked up 
a month later than you was, or we 'd never ha' 
had you dressed in shape fer the Old Virgin." 

Harvey understood from the Eldridge chart 
that the Old Virgin and a nest of curiously 
named shoals were the turning-point of the 
cruise, and that with good luck they would 
wet the balance of their salt there. But see- 
ing the size of the Virgin (it was one tiny 
dot), he wondered how even Disko with the 
hog-yoke and the lead could find her. He 
learned later that Disko was entirely equal to 
that and any other business, and could even 
help others. A big four-by-five blackboard 
hung in the cabin, and Harvey never under- 
stood the need of it till, after some blindine 
thick days, they heard the unmelodious toot- 
ing of a foot-power fog-horn — a machine 
whose note is as that of a consumptive ele- 

They were making a short berth, towing 
the anchor under their foot to save trouble. 
"Square-rigger bellowin' fer his latitude," said 


Long Jack. The dripping red headsails of a 
bark glided out of the fog, and the We 're 
Here rang her bell thrice, using sea short- 

The larger boat backed her topsail with 
shrieks and shoutings. 

" Frenchman," said Uncle Salters, scorn- 
fully. " Miquelon boat from St. Malo." The 
farmer had a weatherly sea-eye. "I 'm most 
outer 'baccy, too, Disko." 

"Same here," said Tom Piatt. "Hi! Backez 
votis — backez vons! Standez awayez, you 
butt-ended mucho-bono! Where you from — 
St. Malo, eh ? " 

"Ah, ha! Mucho bono/ Out! ouif Clos 
Poulet — St. Malof St. Pierre et Miquelon" 
cried the other crowd, waving woolen caps 
and laughing. Then ail together, ''Bord! 
Bord! " 

" Bring up the board, Danny. Beats me 
how them Frenchmen fetch anywheres, ex- 
ceptin' America's fairish broadly. Forty-six 
forty-nine 's good enough fer them ; an' I 
guess it 's abaout right, too." 

Dan chalked the figures on the board, and 
they hung it in the main-rigging to a chorus 
of mercis from the bark. 


K > 


> M 

n o 
— a 


" Seems kinder unneighborly to let 'em 
swedge off like this," Salters suggested, feel- 
ing in his pockets. 

" Hev ye learned French then sence last 
trip?" said Disko. "/ don't want no more 
stone-ballast hove at us 'long o' your callin' 
Miquelon boats ' footy cochins,' same 's you 
did off Le Have." 

" Harmon Rush he said that was the way 
to rise 'em. Plain United States is good 
enough fer me. We 're all dretful short on 
terbakker. Young feller, don't you speak 
French ? " 

*' Oh, yes," said Harvey valiantly ; and he 
bawled: "Hi! Say! Arretez voiis ! Atten- 
dez ! Nous sommes venant pour tabac'' 

"Ah, tabac, tabac!'' they cried, and laughed 

" That hit 'em. Let 's heave a dory over, 
anyway," said Tom Piatt. " I don't exactly 
hold no certificates on French, but I know 
another lingo that goes, I guess. Come on, 
Harve, an' interpret." 

The raffle and confusion when he and Har- 
vey were hauled up the bark's black side was 
indescribable. Her cabin was all stuck round 
with glaring colored prints of the Virgin — 


the Virgin of Newfoundland, they called her. 
Harvey found his French of no recognized 
Bank brand, and his conversation was limited 
to nods and grins. But Tom Piatt waved his 
arms and got along swimmingly. The cap- 
tain gave him a drink of unspeakable gin, 
and the opera-comique crew, with their hairy 
throats, red caps, and long knives, greeted 
him as a brother. Then the trade began. 
They had tobacco, plenty of it — American, 
that had never paid duty to France. They 
wanted chocolate and crackers^ Harvey 
rowed back to arrange with the cook and 
Disko, who owned the stores, and on his 
return the cocoa-tins and cracker-bags were 
counted out by the Frenchman's wheel. It 
looked like a piratical division of loot ; but 
Tom Piatt came out of it roped with black 
pigtail and stuffed with cakes of chewing and 
smoking tobacco. Then those jovial mariners 
swung off into the mist, and the last Harvey 
heard was a gay chorus : 

" Par derriere chez ma tante, 
II y a un bois joli, 
Et le rossignol y chante 
Et le jour et la nuit . . . 


Que donneriez vous, belle, 
Qui I'amenerait ici ? 
Je donnerai Quebec, 
Sorel et Saint Denis." 

** How was it my French did n't go, and 
your sign-talk did ? " Harvey demanded when 
the barter had been distributed among the 
We 're Heres. 

" Sign-talk ! " Piatt guffawed. " Well, yes, 
't was sign-talk, but a heap older 'n your 
French, Harve. Them French boats are 
chock-full o' Freemasons, an' that 's why." 

"Are you a Freemason, then?" 

" Looks that way, don't it? " said the man- 
o'-war's man, stuffing his pipe ; and Harvey 
had another mystery of the deep sea to brood 


THE thing that struck him most was the 
exceedingly casual way in which some 
craft loafed about the broad Atlantic. Fish- 
ing-boats, as Dan said, were naturally depen- 
dent on the courtesy and wisdom of their 
neighbors ; but one expected better things of 
steamers. That was after another interesting 
interview, when they had been chased for 
three miles by a big lumbering old cattle- 
boat, all boarded over on the upper deck, that 
smelt like a thousand cattle-pens. A very 
excited officer yelled at them through a 
speaking-trumpet, and she lay and lollopped 
helplessly on the water while Disko ran, the 
We 're Here under her lee and gave the skip- 
per a piece of his mind. "Where might ye 
be — eh? Ye don't deserve to be anywheres. 
You barn-yard tramps go hoggin' the road 
on the high seas with no blame consideration 
fer your neighbors, an' your eyes in your cof- 
fee-cups instid o' in your silly heads." 


At this the skipper danced on the bridge 
and said something about Disko's own eyes. 
"We have n't had an observation for three 
days. D' you suppose we can run her bhnd ? " 
he shouted. 

" Wa-al, / can," Disko retorted. " What 's 
come to your lead? Et it? Can't ye smell 
bottom, or are them cattle too rank ? " 

"What d' ye feed 'em?" said Uncle Sal- 
ters with intense seriousness, for the smell of 
the pens woke all the farmer in him. " They 
say they fall off dretful on a v'yage. Dunno as 
it 's any o' my business, but I 've a kind o' no- 
tion that oil-cake broke small an' sprinkled — " 

"Thunder ! " said a cattle-man in a red jer- 
sey as he looked over the side. " What asy- 
lum did they let His Whiskers out of? " 

"Young feller," Salters began, standing up 
in the fore-rigging, " let me tell yeou 'fore we 
go any further that I 've — " 

The officer on the bridge took off his cap 
with immense politeness. " Excuse me," he 
said, "but J 've asked for my reckoning. If 
the agricultural person with the hair will 
kindly shut his head, the sea-green barnacle 
with the wall-eye may per-haps condescend 
to enlighten us." 


" Naow you 've made a show o' me, Salt- 
ers," said Disko, angrily. He could not stand 
up to that particular sort of talk, and snapped 
out the latitude and longitude without more 

" Well, that 's a boat-load of lunatics, sure," 
said the skipper, as he rang up the engine- 
room and tossed a bundle of newspapers into 
the schooner. 

"Of «// the blamed fools, next to you, Salt- 
ers, him an' his crowd are abaout the likeliest 
I 've ever seen," said Disko as the We 're 
Here slid away. " I was jest givin' him my 
jedgment on lullsikin' round these waters like 
a lost child, an' you must cut in with your fool 
farmin'. Can't ye never keep things sep'rate?" 

Harvey, Dan, and the others stood back, 
winking one to the other and full of joy ; but 
Disko and Salters wrangled seriously till 
evening, Salters arguing that a cattle-boat 
was practically a barn on blue water, and 
Disko insisting that, even if this were the 
case, decency and fisher-pride demanded that 
he should have kept " things sep'rate." Long 
Jack stood it in silence for a time, — an angry 
skipper makes an unhappy crew, — and then 
he spoke across the table after supper: 


" Fwhat 's the good o* bodderin' fwhat 
they '11 say ? " said he. 

" They '11 tell that tale agin us fer years — 
that 's all," said Disko. " Oil-cake sprin- 
kled ! " 

" With salt, o' course," said Salters, impeni- 
tent, reading the farming reports from a 
week-old New York paper. 

" It 's plumb mortifyin' to all my feelin's," 
the skipper went on. 

" Can't see ut that way," said Long Jack, 
the peacemaker. " Look at here, Disko ! Is 
there another packet afloat this day in this 
weather cud ha' met a tramp an', over an' 
above givin' her her reckonin', — over an' 
above that, I say, — cud ha' discoorsed wid 
her quite intelligent on the management av 
steers an' such at sea ? Forgit ut ! Av coorse 
they will not. 'T was the most compenjus 
conversation that iver accrued. Double game 
an' twice runnin' — all to us." Dan kicked 
Harvey under the table, and Harvey choked 
in his cup. 

** Well," said Salters, who felt that his honor 
had been somewhat plastered, " I said I did n't 
know as *t wuz any business o' mine, 'fore I 


"An' right there," said Tom Piatt, experi- 
enced in discipline and etiquette — "right 
there, I take it, Disko, you should ha' asked 
him to stop ef the conversation wuz likely, 
in your jedgment, to be anyways — what it 
should n't." 

" 'Dunno but that 's so," said Disko, who 
saw his way to an honorable retreat from a 
fit of the dignities. 

"Why, o' course it was so," said Salters, 
" you bein' skipper here ; an' I 'd cheerful 
hev stopped on a hint — not from any lead- 
in' or conviction, but fer the sake o' bearin' 
an example to these two blame boys of 

"Did n't I tell you, Harve, 't would come 
araound to us 'fore we 'd done? Always 
those blame boys. But I would n't have 
missed the show fer a half-share in a halibut- 
ter," Dan whispered." 

" Still, things should ha' been kep' sep'- 
rate," said Disko, and the light of new argu- 
ment lit in Salters's eye as he crumbled cut 
plug into his pipe. 

" There 's a power av vartue in keepin' 
things sep'rate," said Long Jack, intent on 
stilling the storm. "That 's fwhat Steyning 


of Steyning and Hare's fund when he sent 
Counahan fer skipper on the Marilla D. 
Kuhn, instid o' Cap. Newton that was took 
with inflam'try rheumatism an' could n't go. 
Counahan the Navigator we called him." 

"Nick Counahan he never went aboard fer 
a night 'thout a pond o' rum somewheres in 
the manifest," said Tom Piatt, playing up to 
the lead. " He used to bum araound the 
c'mission houses to Boston lookin' fer the 
Lord to make him captain of a tow-boat on 
his merits. Sam Coy, up to Atlantic Avenoo, 
give him his board free fer a year or more on 
account of his stories. Counahan the Navi- 
gator ! Tck ! Tck ! Dead these fifteen year, 
ain't he ? " 

" Seventeen, I guess. He died the year 
the Caspar Mc Veagh was built ; but he could 
niver keep things sep'rate. Steyning tuk him 
fer the reason the thief tuk the hot stove — 
bekaze there was nothin' else that season. 
The men was all to the Banks, and Counahan 
he whacked up an iverlastin' hard crowd fer 
crew. Rum ! Ye cud ha' floated the Marilla, 
insurance an' all, in fwhat they stowed aboard 
her. They lef Boston Harbor for the great 
Grand Bank wid a roarin' nor' wester behind 


'em an' all hands full to the bung. An' the 
hivens looked after thim, for divil a watch did 
they set, an' divil a rope did they lay hand to, 
till they 'd seen the bottom av a fifteen-gallon 
cask o' bug-juice. That was about wan week, 
so far as Counahan remembered. (If I cud 
only tell the tale as he told ut !) All that 
whoile the wind blew like ould glory, an' the 
Marilla — 't was summer, and they 'd give her 
a foretopmast — struck her gait and kept 
ut. Then Counahan tuk the hog-yoke an' 
thrembled over it for a whoile, an' made out, 
betwix' that an' the chart an' the singin' in 
his head, that they was to the south'ard 
o' Sable Island, gettin' along glorious, but 
speakin' nothin'. Then they broached an- 
other keg, an' quit speculatin' about anythin' 
fer another spell. The Marilla she lay down 
whin she dropped Boston Light, and she 
never lufted her lee-rail up to that time — 
hustlin' on one an' the same slant. But they 
saw no weed, nor gulls, nor schooners ; an' 
prisintly they obsarved they 'd bin out a mat- 
ter o* fourteen days, and they mistrusted the 
Bank had suspinded payment. So they 
sounded, an' got sixty fathom. 'That 's me,' 
sez Counahan. ' That 's me iv'ry time ! I 've 


run her slat on the Bank fer you, an' when we 
get thirty fathom we '11 turn in like little men. 
Counahan is the b'y,' sez he. * Counahan the 
navi orator ! ' 

" Nex' cast they got ninety. Sez Couna- 
han : ' Either the lead-line 's tuk to stretchin' 
or else the Bank 's sunk.' 

''They hauled ut up, bein' just about in 
that state when ut seemed right an' reason- 
able, and sat down on the deck countin' the 
knots, an' gettin' her snarled up hijjus. The 
Marilla she 'd struck her gait, an' she hild 
ut, an' prisintly along come a tramp, an' Cou- 
nahan spoke her. 

" ' Hev ye seen any fishin'-boats now? ' sez 
he, quite casual. 

" * There 's lashin's av them off the Irish 
coast,' sez the tramp. 

"'Aah! go shake yerself,' sez Counahan. 
* Fwhat have I to do wid the Irish coast?' 

" 'Then fwhat are ye doin' here?' sez the 

" * Sufferin' Christianity!' sez Counahan (he 
always said that whin his pumps sucked an' he 
was not feelin' good) — 'Sufferin' Christian- 
ity ! ' he sez, ' where am I at ? ' 

"'Thirty-five mile west-sou' west o' Cape 


Clear,' sez the tramp, ' if that 's any consola- 
tion to you.' 

" Counahan fetched wan jump, four feet 
sivin inches, measured by the cook. 

" * Consolation ! * sez he, bould as brass. 
* D' ye take me fer a dialect ? Thirty-five 
mile from Cape Clear, an' fourteen days from 
Boston Light. Sufferin' Christianity, 't is a 
record, an' by the same token I 've a mother 
to Skibbereen 1 ' Think av ut ! The gall av 
um ! But ye see he could niver keep things 

"The crew was mostly Cork an' Kerry 
men, barrin' one Marylander that wanted to 
go back, but they called him a mutineer, an' 
they ran the ould Marilla into Skibbereen, 
an' they had an illigant time visitin' around 
with frinds on the ould sod fer a week. 
Thin they wint back, an' it cost 'em two an' 
thirty days to beat to the Banks again. 'T was 
gettin' on towards fall, and grub was low, so 
Counahan ran her back to Boston, wid no 
more bones to ut." 

"And what did the firm say?" Harvey 

" Fwhat could they ? The fish was on the 
Banks, an' Counahan was at T-wharf talkin' 


av his record trip east ! They tuk their sat- 
isfaction out av that, an' ut all came av not 
keepin' the crew and the rum sep'rate in 
the first place ; an' confusin' Skibbereen wid 
'Queereau, in the second. Counahan the Navi- 
gator, rest his sowl ! He was an imprompju 
citizen ! " 

" Once I was in the Lucy Holmes,'^ said 
Manuel, in his gentle voice. "They not 
want any of her feesh in Gloucester. Eh, 
wha-at? Give us no price. So we go across 
the water, and think to sell to some Fayal 
man. Then it blow fresh, and we cannot see 
well. Eh, wha-at ? Then it blow some more 
fresh, and we go down below and drive very 
fast — no one know where. By and by we see 
a land, and it get some hot. Then come 
two, three nigger in a brick. Eh, wha-at? 
We ask where we are, and they say — now, 
what you all think ? " 

" Grand Canary," said Disko, after a mo- 
ment. Manuel shook his head, smiling. 

" Blanco," said Tom Piatt. 

" No. Worse than that. We was below 
Bezagos, and the brick she was from Liberia ! 
So we sell our feesh there! Not bad, so? 
Eh, wha-at?" 


** Can a schooner like this go right across to 
Africa? " said Harvey. 

I " Go araound the Horn ef there *s anythin' 
/ worth goin' fer, and the grub holds aout," said 
\ Disko. " My father he run his packet, an' 
she was a kind o' pinkey, abaout fifty ton, I 
guess, — iki^Rupert, — he runheroverto Green- 
land's icy mountains the year ha'af our fleet 
was tryin' after cod there. An' what 's more, 
he took my mother along with him, — to show 
her haow the money was earned, I presoom, — 
an' they was all iced up, an' I was born at 
Disko. Don't remember nothin' abaout it, o' 
course. We come back when the ice eased 
in the spring, but they named me fer the 
place. Kinder mean trick to put up on a 
baby, but we 're all baound to make mistakes 
in aour lives." 

"Sure! Sure!" said Salters, wagging his 
head. " All baound to make mistakes, an' I 
tell you two boys here thet after you 've made 
a mistake — ye don't make fewer 'n a hundred 
a day — the next best thing 's to own up to it 
like men." 

Long Jack winked one tremendous wink 
that embraced all hands except Disko and 
Salters, and the incident was closed. 


Then they made berth after berth to the 
northward, the dories out ahnost every day, 
running along the east edge of the Grand 
Bank in thirty- to forty -fathom water, and 
fishing steadily. 

It was here Harvey first met the squid, who 
is one of the best cod-baits, but uncertain in 
his moods. They were waked out of their 
bunks one black night by yells of " Squid 
O ! " from Salters, and for an hour and a half 
every soul aboard hung over his squid-jig — 
a piece of lead painted red and armed at the 
lower end with a circle of pins bent backward 
like half-opened umbrella ribs. The squid — 
for some unknown reason — likes, and wraps 
himself round, this thing, and is hauled up ere 
he can escape from the pins. But as he leaves 
his home he squirts first water and next ink 
into his captor's face ; and it was curious to 
see the men weaving their heads from side to 
side to dodge the shot. They were as black 
as sweeps when the flurry ended ; but a pile 
of fresh squid lay on the deck, and the large 
cod thinks very well of a little shiny piece of 
squid-tentacle at the tip of a clam-baited hook. 
Next day they caught many fish, and met the 
Carrie Pitman, to whom they shouted their 


luck, and she wanted to trade — seven cod for 
one fair-sized squid; but Disko would not 
agree at the price, and the Carrie dropped 
sullenly to leeward and anchored half a mile 
away, in the hope of striking on to some for 

Disko said nothing till after supper, when 
he sent Dan and Manuel out to buoy the 
We 're Heres cable and announced his inten- 
tion of turning in with the broad-axe. Dan 
naturally repeated these remarks to a dory 
from the Carrie, who wanted to know why 
they were buoying their cable, since they were 
not on rocky bottom. 

" Dad sez he would n't trust a ferryboat 
within five mile o' you," Dan howled cheer- 

" Why don't he git out, then ? Who 's hin- 
derin' ? " said the other. 

"'Cause you 've jest the same ez lee-bowed 
him, an' he don't take that from any boat, 
not to speak o' sech a driftin' gurry-butt as 
you be." 

" She ain't driftin' any this trip," said the 
man angrily, for the Carrie Pitman had an 
unsavory reputation for breaking her ground- 


** Then haow d' you make berths ? " said 
Dan. " It 's her best p'int o' sailin'. An' ef 
she 's quit driftin', what in thunder are you 
doin' with a new jib-boom ? " That shot went 

" Hey, you Portugoosy organ-grinder, take 
your monkey back to Gloucester. Go back 
to school, Dan Troop," was the answer. 

" O-ver-alls ! O-ver-alls ! " yelled Dan, who 
knew that one of the Carrie s crew had worked 
in an overall factory the winter before. 

" Shrimp ! Gloucester shrimp ! Git aout, 
you Novy ! " 

To call a Gloucester man a Nova Scotian 
is not well received. Dan answered in kind. 

" Novy yourself, ye Scrabble-towners ! ye 
Chatham wreckers ! Git aout with your brick 
in your stockin' ! " And the forces separated, 
but Chatham had the worst of it. 

"I knew haow 't would be," said Disko. 
" She 's drawed the wind raound already. 
Some one oughter put a dee'^X'sX on thet 
packet. She 'II snore till midnight, an' jest 
when we 're gittin' our sleep she 'II strike 
adrift. Good job we ain't crowded with craft 
hereaways. But I ain't goin' to up anchor fer 
Chatham. She may hold." 


The wind, which had hauled round, rose at 
sundown and blew steadily. There was not 
enough sea, though, to disturb even a dory's 
tackle, but the Carrie Pitman was a law unto 
herself. At the end of the boys' watch they 
heard the crack-crack-crack of a huge muzzle- 
loading revolver aboard her. 

" Glory, glory, hallelujah ! " sung Dan. 
" Here she comes, dad ; butt-end first, walkin' 
in her sleep same 's she done on ' Queereau." 

Had she been any other boat Disko would 
have taken his chances, but now he cut the 
cable as the Carrie Pitman, with all the North 
Atlantic to play in, lurched down directly 
upon them. The We 're Here, under jib and 
riding-sail, gave her no more room than was 
absolutely necessary, — Disko did not wish 
to spend a week hunting for his cable, — 
but scuttled up into the wind as the Carrie 
passed within easy hail, a silent and angry 
boat, at the mercy of a raking broadside of 
Bank chaff. • 

" Good evenin*," said Disko, raising his 
head-gear, ** an' haow does your garden 
grow ? " 

" Go to Ohio an' hire a mule," said Uncle 
Salters. *' We don't want no farmers here." 


'*Will I lend you my dory-anchor? " cried 
Long Jack. 

" Unship your rudder an' stick it in the 
mud," said Tom Piatt. 

" Say ! " Dan's voice rose shrill and high, 
as he stood on the wheel-box. " Sa-ay ! Is 
there a strike in the o-ver-all factory ; or 
hev they hired girls, ye Shackamaxons ? " 

"Veer out the tiller-lines," cried Harvey, 
"and nail 'em to the bottom." . That was a 
salt-flavored jest he had been put up to by 
Tom Piatt. Manuel leaned over the stern 
and yelled : " Johnna Morgan play the or- 
gan ! Ahaaaa ! " He flourished his broad 
thumb with a gesture of unspeakable con- 
tempt and derision, while little Penn covered 
himself with glory by piping up : " Gee a 
little ! Hssh ! Come here. Haw ! " 

They rode on their chain for the rest of 
the night, a short, snappy, uneasy motion, as 
Harvey found, and wasted half the forenoon 
recovering the cable. But the boys agreed 
the trouble was cheap at the price of triumph 
and glory, and they thought with grief over 
all the beautiful things that they might have 
said to the discomfited Carrie. 


NEXT day they fell in with more sails, 
all circling slowly from the east north- 
erly towards the west. But just when they 
expected to make the shoals by the Virgin 
the fog shut down, and they anchored, sur- 
rounded by the tinklings of invisible bells. 
There was not much fishing, but occasionally 
dory met dory in the fog and exchanged 

That night, a little before dawn, Dan and 
Harvey, who had been sleeping most of the 
day, tumbled out to " hook " fried pies. There 
was no reason why they should not have 
taken them openly ; but they tasted better 
so, and it made the cook angry. The heat 
and smell belov/ drove them on deck with 
their plunder, and they found Disko at the 
bell, which he handed over to Harvey. 

"Keep her goin'," said he. "I mistrust I 
hear somethin'. Ef it 's anything, I 'm best 
where I am so 's to get at things." 



It was a forlorn little jingle ; the thick 
air seemed to pinch it off; and in the pauses 
Harvey heard the muffled shriek of a liner's 
siren, and he knew enough of the Banks to 
know what that meant. It came to him, 
with horrible distinctness, how a boy in a 
cherry-colored jersey — he despised fancy 
blazers now with all a fisherman's contempt 

— how an ignorant, rowdy boy had once 
said it would be "great" if a steamer ran 
down a fishing-boat. That boy had a state- 
room with a hot and cold bath, and spent 
ten minutes each morning picking over a 
gilt-edged bill of fare. And that same boy 

— no, his very much older brother — was up 
at four of the dim dawn in streaming, crack- 
ling oilskins, hammering, literally for the dear 
life, on a bell smaller than the steward's 
breakfast-bell, while somewhere close at 
hand a thirty-foot steel stem was storming 
along at twenty miles an hour! The bitter- 
est thought of all was that there were folks 
asleep in dry, upholstered cabins who would 
never learn that they had massacred a boat 
before breakfast. So Harvey rang the bell. 

" Yes, they slow daown one turn o' their 
blame propeller," said Dan, applying himself 


to Manuel's conch, " fer to keep inside the law, 
an' that 's consolin' when we *re all at the 
bottom. Hark to her ! She 's a huniper ! " 

''Aoooo — whoooo — whiippf went the 
siren. " Wingle — tingle — link,'' went the 
bell. " Graaa — oiich / " went the conch, while 
sea and sky were all milled up in milky fog. 
Then Harvey felt that he was near a moving 
body, and found himself looking up and up at 
the wet edge of a cliff-like bow, leaping, it 
seemed, directly over the schooner. A jaunty 
little feather of water curled in front of it, and 
as it lifted it showed a long ladder of Roman 
numerals — XV., XVI., XVII. , XVIII., and so 
forth — on a salmon-colored, gleaming side. 
It tilted forward and downward with a heart- 
stilling " Ssssooo "; the ladder disappeared ; 
a line of brass-rimmed port-holes flashed 
past; a jet of steam puffed in Harvey's help- 
lessly uplifted hands ; a spout of hot water 
roared along the rail of the We 're Here, 
and the little schooner staggered and shook 
in a rush of screw-torn water, as a liner's 
stern vanished in the fog. Harvey got ready 
to faint or be sick, or both, when he heard 
a crack like a trunk thrown on a sidewalk, 
and, all small in his ear, a far-away telephone 


voice drawling: "Heave to! You 've sunk 
us ! 

" Is it us ? " he g-asped. 

** No ! Boat out yonder. Ring ! We 're 
goin* to look," said Dan, running out a dory. 

In half a minute all except Harvey, Penn, 
and the cook were overside and away. Pres- 
ently a schooner's stump-foremast, snapped 
clean across, drifted past the bows. Then 
an empty green dory came by, knocking on 
the We We Heres side, as though she wished 
to be taken in. Then followed something, 
face down, in a blue jersey, but — it was not 
the whole of a man. Penn changed color 
and caught his breath with a click. Harvey 
pounded despairingly at the bell, for he feared 
they might be sunk at any minute, and he 
jumped at Dan's hail as the crew came back. 

"The Jennie Cushman''' said Dan, hysteri- 
cally, " cut clean in half — graound up an' 
trompled on at that ! Not a quarter of a 
mile away. Dad 's got the old man. There 
ain't anyone else, and — there was his son 
too. Oh, Harve, Harve, I can't stand it ! 
I 've seen — " He dropped his head on his 
arms and sobbed while the others dragged 
a gray-headed man aboard. 


"What did you pick me up for?" the 
stranger groaned. " Disko, what did you 
pick me up for ? " 

Disko dropped a heavy hand on his 
shoulder, for the man's eyes were wild and 
his lips trembled as he stared at the silent 
crew. Then up and spoke Pennsylvania 
Pratt, who was also Haskins or Rich or 
McVitty when Uncle Salters forgot ; and his 
face was changed on him from the face of a 
fool to the countenance of an old, wise man, 
and he said in a strong- voice: "The Lord 
gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed 
be the name of the Lord! I was — I am a 
minister of the Gospel. Leave him to me." 

" Oh, you be, be you ? " said the man. 
" Then pray my son back to me ! Pray back 
a nine-thousancl-dollar boat an' a thousand 
quintal of fish. If you 'd left me alone my 
widow could ha' gone on to the Provident 
an' worked fer her board, an' never known 
— an' never known. Now I '11 hev to tell 

"There ain't nothin' to say," said Disko. 
" Better lie down a piecejasgn 011ey._ll_ 

When a man has lost his only son, his 
summer's work, and his means of livelihood, 


in thirty counted seconds, it is hard to give 

"All Gloucester men, was n't they," said 
Tom Piatt, fiddling helplessly with a dory- 

" Oh, that don't make no odds," said 
Jason, wringing the wet from his beard. 
" I '11 be rowin' summer boarders araound 
East Gloucester this fall." He rolled heavily 
to the rail, singing : 

" Happy birds that sing and fly- 
Round thine altars, O Most High ! " 

" Come with me. Come below ! " said Penn, 
as though he had a right to give orders. 
Their eyes met and fought for a quarter of 
a minute. 

" I dunno who you be, but I '11 come," said 
Jason, submissively. " Mebbe I '11 get back 
some o' the — some o' the — nine thousand 
dollars." Penn led him into the cabin and 
slid the door behind. 

"That ain't Penn," cried Uncle Salters. 
" It 's Jacob Boiler, an' — he 's remembered 
Johnstown ! I never seed such eyes in any 
livin' man's head. What 's to do naow ? 
What '11 I do naow ? " 


They could hear Penn's voice and Jason's 
together. Then Penn's went on alone, and 
Salters slipped off his hat, for Penn was pray- 
ing. Presently the little man came up the 
steps, huge drops of sweat on his face, and 
looked at the crew. Dan was still sobbing by 
the wheel. 

" He don't know us," Salters groaned. 
" It 's all to do over again, checkers and 
everything — an' what '11 he say to me?''' 

Penn spoke ; they could hear that it was 
to strangers. " I have prayed," said he. 
" Our people believe in prayer. I have 
prayed for the life of this man's son. Mine 
were drowned before my eyes — she and my 
eldest and — the others. Shall a man be 
more wise than his Maker ? I prayed never 
for their lives, but I have prayed for this 
man's son, and he will surely be sent him." 

Salters looked pleadingly at Penn to see 
if he remembered. 

"How long have I been mad?" Penn asked 
suddenly. His mouth was twitching. 

" Pshaw, Penn ! You were n't never mad," 
Salters began. " Only a little distracted 

" I saw the houses strike the bridge before 


the fires broke out. I do not remember any 
more. How long ago is that ? " 

"I can't stand it! I can't stand it!" cried 
Dan, and Harvey whimpered in sympathy. 

" Abaout five year," said Disko, in a shak- 
ing voice. 

"Then I have been a charge on some one 
for every day of that time. Who was the 
man : 

Disko pointed to Salters. 

" Ye hain't — ye hain't ! " cried the sea-far- 
mer, twisting his hands together. " Ye 've 
more 'n earned your keep twice-told ; an' 
there 's money owin' you, Penn, besides ha'af 
o' my quarter-share in the boat, which is yours 
fer value received." 

" You are good men. I can see that in 
your faces. But — " 

*' Mother av Mercy," whispered Long Jack, 
" an' he 's been wid us all these trips ! He 's 
clean bewitched." 

A schooner's bell struck up alongside, and 
a voice hailed through the fog: "O Disko I 
'Heard abaout the Jennie Ciishmanf 

"They have found his son," cried Penn. 
" Stand you still and see the salvation of the 
Lord ! " 


" Got Jason aboard here," Disko answered, 
but his voice quavered. " There — war n't any 
one else ? " 

"We 've fund one, though. 'Run acrost 
him snarled up in a mess o' lumber thet 
might ha' bin a foc'sle. His head 's cut 

"Who is he?" 

The We 're Hercs heart-beats answered 
one another. 

" Guess it 's young Olley," the voice 

Penn raised his hands and said something 
in German. Harvey could have sworn that a 
bright sun was shining upon his lifted face ; 
but the drawl went on : " Sa-ay ! You fellers 
guyed us consid'rable t' other night." 

"We don't feel like guyin' any now," s&id 

" I know it; but to tell the honest truth we 
was kinder — kinder driftin' when we run agin 
young Olley." 

It was the irrepressible Carrie Pitman, and 
a roar of unsteady laughter went up from the 
deck of the We 're Here. 

" Hed n't you 'baout 's well send the old 
man aboard? We 're runnin' in fer more 


bait an' graound-tackle. Guess you won't 
want him, anyway, an' this blame windlass 
work makes us short-handed. We '11 take 
care of him. He married my woman's aunt." 

" I '11 give you anything in the boat," said 

" Don't want nothin', 'less, mebbe, an anchor 
that '11 hold. Say! Young Olley 's gittin' 
kinder baulky an' excited. Send the old man 

Penn waked him from his stupor of despair, 
and Tom Piatt rowed him over. He went 
away without a word of thanks, not knowing 
what was to come ; and the fog closed over all. 

"And now," said Penn, drawing a deep 
breath as though about to preach. " And 
now " — the erect body sank like a sword 
driven home into the scabbard ; the light 
faded from the overbright eyes ; the voice 
returned to its usual pitiful little titter — "and 
now," said Pennsylvania Pratt, "do you think 
it 's too early for a little game of checkers, 
Mr. Salters.?" 

"The very thing — the very thing I was 
goin' to say myself," cried Salters promptly. 
" It beats all, Penn, how ye git on to what 's 
in a man's mind." 


The little fellow blushed and meekly fol- 
lowed Salters forward. 

" Up anchor ! Hurry ! Let 's quit these 
crazy waters," shouted Disko, and never was 
he more swiftly obeyed. 

" Now wh^t in creation d' ye suppose is the 
meanin' o' that all ? " said Long Jack, when 
they were working through the fog once 
more, damp, dripping, and bewildered. 

"The way I sense it," said Disko, at the 
wheel, " is this: The Jennie Cushman business 
comin' on an' empty stummick " 

" He — we saw one of them go by," sobbed 

** An' that, o course, kinder hove him outer 
water, julluk runnin' a craft ashore ; hove him 
right aout, I take it, to rememberin' Johns- 
town an' Jacob Boiler an' such-like reminis- 
cences. Well, consolin' Jason there held him 
up a piece, same 's shorin' up a boat. Then, 
bein' weak, them props slipped an' slipped, an' 
he slided down the ways, an' naow he 's water- 
borne agin. That *s haow / sense it." 

They decided that Disko was entirely cor- 

"'T would ha' bruk Salters all up," said 
Long Jack, " if Penn had stayed Jacob Bol- 


lerin'. Did ye see his face when Penn asked 
who he 'd been charged on all these years ? 
How is ut, Salters ? " 

" Asleep — dead asleep. Turned in like a 
child," Salters replied, tiptoeing aft. " There 
won't be no grub till he wakes, natural. Did 
ye ever see sech a gift in prayer ? He ever- 
lastin'ly hiked young Olley outer the ocean. 
Thet 's my belief. Jason was tur'ble praoud 
of his boy, an' I mistrusted all along 't was a 
jedgment on worshipin' vain idols." 

" There 's others jest as sot," said Disko. 

"That 's dif'runt," Salters retorted quickly. 
" Penn 's not all caulked, an' I ain't only but 
doin' my duty by him." 

They waited, those hungry men, three hours, 
till Penn reappeared with a smooth face and a 
blank mind. He said he believed that he had 
been dreaming. Then he wanted to know 
why they were so silent, and they could not 
tell him. 

Disko worked all hands mercilessly for the 
next three or four days ; and when they could 
not go out, turned them into the hold to stack 
the ship's stores into smaller compass, to make 
more room for the fish. The packed mass 
ran from the cabin partition to the sliding 


door behind the foc'sle stove ; and Disko 
showed how there is great art in stowing 
caro^o so as to brino- a schooner to her best 
draft. The crew were thus kept hvely till 
they recovered their spirits ; and Harvey was 
tickled with a rope's end by Long Jack for 
being, as the Galway man said, ** sorrowful 
as a sick cat over fwhat could n't be helped." 
He did a great deal of thinking in those 
dreary days ; and told Dan what he thought, 
and Dan agreed with him — even to the ex- 
tent of asking for fried pies instead of hook- 
ing them. 

But a week later the two nearly upset the 
Hattie S. in a wild attempt to stab a shark 
with an old bayonet tied to a stick. The grim 
brute rubbed alongside the dory begging for 
small fish, and between the three of them it 
was a mercy they all got off alive. 

At last, after playing blindman's-buff In 
the fog, there came a morning when Disko 
shouted down the foc'sle: "Hurry, boys! 
We 're in taown ! " 


TO the end of his days, Harvey will never 
forget that sight. The sun was just clear 
of the horizon they had not seen for nearly a 
week, and his low red light struck into the 
ridinof-sails of three fleets of anchored schoon- 
ers — one to the north, one to the westward, 
and one to the south. There must have been 
nearly a hundred of them, of every possible 
make and build, with, far away, a square- 
rigged Frenchman, all bowing and courtesy- 
ing one to the other. From every boat dories 
were dropping away like bees from a crowded 
hive ; and the clamor of voices, the rattling 
of ropes and blocks, and the splash of the oars 
carried for miles across the heaving water. 
The sails turned all colors, black, pearly- 
gray, and white, as the sun mounted ; and 
more boats swung up through the mists to 
the southward. 

The dories gathered in clusters, separated, 


reformed, and broke again, all heading one 
way ; while men hailed and whistled and cat- 
called and sang, and the water was speckled 
with rubbish thrown overboard. 

"It 's a town," said Harvey. "Disko was 
right. It is 3. town ! " 

" I 've seen smaller," said Disko. " There 's 
about a thousand men here ; an' yonder 's the 
Virgin." He pointed to a vacant space of 
greenish sea, where there were no dories. 

The We 're Here skirted round the north- 
ern squadron, Disko waving his hand to friend 
after friend, and anchored as neatly as a rac- 
ing yacht at the end of the season. The Bank 
fleet pass good seamanship in silence ; but a 
bungler is jeered all along the line. 

"Jest in time fer the caplin," cried the 
Mary Chilton. 

" 'Salt 'most wet? " asked the King Philip. 

" Hey, Tom Piatt ! Come t' supper to- 
night ? " said the Henry Clay ; and so ques- 
tions and answers flew back and forth. Men 
had met one another before, dory- fishing in the 
fog, and there is no place for gossip like the 
Bank fleet. They all seemed to know about 
Harvey's rescue, and asked if he were worth his 
salt yet. The young bloods jested with Dan, 


who had a lively tongue of his own, and 
inquired after their health by the town-nick- 
names they least liked. Manuel's country- 
men jabbered at him in their own language ; 
and even the silent cook was seen riding the 
jib-boom and shouting Gaelic to a friend as 
black as himself After they had buoyed 
the cable — all around the Virgin is rocky 
bottom, and carelessness means chafed 
ground-tackle and danger from drifting — 
after they had buoyed the cable, their dories 
went forth to join the mob of boats anchored 
about a mile away. The schooners rocked 
and dipped at a safe distance, like mother 
ducks watching their brood, while the dories 
behaved like mannerless ducklings. 

As they drove into the confusion, boat 
banging boat, Harvey's ears tingled at the 
comments on his rowing. Every dialect from 
Labrador to Long Island, with Portuguese, 
Neapolitan, Lingua Franca, French, and 
Gaelic, with songs and shoutings and new 
oaths, rattled round him, and he seemed to 
be the butt of it all. For the first time 
in his life he felt shy — perhaps that came 
from living so long with only the We 're 
Heres — among the scores of wild faces 


that rose and fell with the reeling small 
craft. A gentle, breathing swell, three fur- 
longs from trough to barrel, would quietly 
shoulder up a string of variously painted 
dories. They hung for an instant, a won- 
derful frieze against the sky-line, and their 
men pointed and hailed. Next moment the 
open mouths, waving arms, and bare chests 
disappeared, while on another swell came up 
an entirely new line of characters like paper 
figures in a toy theatre. So Harvey stared. 
" Watch out ! " said Dan, flourishing a dip- 
net. "When I tell you dip, you dip. The 
caplin '11 school any time from naow on. 
Where '11 we lay, Tom Piatt?" 

Pushing, shoving, and hauling, greeting old 
friends here and warning old enemies there, 
Commodore Tom Piatt led his little fleet 
well to leeward of the general crowd, and 
immediately three or four men began to 
haul on their anchors with intent to lee-bow 
the We 're Heres. But a yell of laughter 
went up as a dory shot from her station 
with exceeding speed, its occupant pulling 
madly on the roding, 

" Give her slack ! " roared twenty voices. 
"Let him shake it out." 


*' What *s the matter ? " said Harvey, as 
the boat flashed away to the southward. 
** He 's anchored, is n't he ? " 

** Anchored, sure enough, but his graound- 
tackle 's kinder shifty," said Dan, laughing. 
" Whale 's fouled it. . . . Dip, Harve ! 
Here they come ! " 

The sea round them clouded and dark- 
ened, and then frizzed up in showers of tiny 
silver fish, and over a space of five or six 
acres the cod began to leap like trout in 
May ; while behind the cod three or four 
broad gray-black backs broke the water 
into boils. 

Then everybody shouted and tried to haul 
up his anchor to get among the school, and 
fouled his neighbor's line and said what was 
in his heart, and dipped furiously with his 
dip-net, and shrieked cautions and advice to 
his companions, while the deep fizzed like 
freshly opened soda-water, and cod, men, 
and whales together flung in upon the luck- 
less bait. Harvey was nearly knocked over- 
board by the handle of Dan's net. But in all 
the wild tumult he noticed, and never forgot, 
the wicked, set little eye — something like a 
circus elephant's eye — of a whale that drove 


along almost level with the water, and, so he 
said, winked at him. Three boats found their 
rodings fouled by these reckless mid-sea 
hunters, and were towed half a mile ere their 
horses shook the line free. 

Then the caplin moved off, and five min- 
utes later there was no sound except the 
splash of the sinkers overside, the flapping 
of the cod, and the whack of the muckles 
as the men stunned them. It was wonderful 
fishing. Harvey could see the glimmering 
cod below, swimming slowly in droves, biting 
as steadily as they swam. Bank law strictly 
forbids more than one hook on one line when 
the dories are on the Virgin or the Eastern 
Shoals; but so close lay the boats that even 
single hooks snarled, and Harvey found him- 
self in hot argument with a gentle, hairy 
Newfoundlander on one side and a howling 
Portuguese on the other. 

Worse than any tangle of fishing-lines was 
the confusion of the dory-rodings below water. 
Each man had anchored where it seemed good 
to him, drifting and rowing round his fixed 
point. As the fish struck on less quickly, 
each man wanted to haul up and get to better 
ground; but every third man found himself 



intimately connected with some four or five 
neighbors. To cut another's roding is crime 
unspeakable on the Banks ; yet it was done, 
and done without detection, three or four 
times that day. Tom Piatt caught a Maine 
man in the black act and knocked him over 
the gunwale with an oar, and Manuel served 
a fellow-countryman in the same way. But 
Harvey's anchor-line was cut, and so was 
Penn's, and they were turned into relief-boats 
to carry fish to the We 're Here as the dories 
filled. The caplin schooled once more at 
twilight, when the mad clamor was repeated ; 
and at dusk they rowed back to dress down 
by the light of kerosene-lamps on the edge 
of the pen. 

It was a huge pile, and they went to sleep 
while they were dressing. Next day several 
boats fished right above the cap of the Vir- 
gin ; and Harvey, with them, looked down on 
the very weed of that lonely rock, which rises 
to within twenty feet of the surface. The cod 
were there in legions, marching solemnly over 
the leathery kelp. When they bit, they bit 
all together; and so when they stopped. 
There was a slack time at noon, and the do- 
ries began to search for amusement. It was 


Dan who sighted the Hope of Prague just 
coming up, and as her boats joined the 
company they were greeted with the ques- 
tion : " Who 's the meanest man in the 

Three hundred voices answered cheerily : 
" Nick Bra-ady." It sounded like an organ 

"Who stole the lamp-wicks?" That was 
Dan's contribution. 

" Nick Bra-ady," sang the boats. 

" Who biled the salt bait fer soup ? " This 
was an unknown backbiter a quarter of a 
mile away. 

Again the joyful chorus. Now, Brady 
was not especially mean, but he had that 
reputation, and the Fleet made the most of 
it. Then they discovered a man from a 
Truro boat who, six years before, had been 
convicted of using a tackle with five or six 
hooks — a " scrowger," they call it-— on the 
Shoals. Naturally, he had been christened 
'* Scrowger Jim"; and though he had hidden 
himself on the Georges ever since, he found 
his honors waiting for him full blown. They 
took it up in a sort of fire-cracker chorus: 
"Jim! O Jim ! Jim: 6^ Jim! Sssscrowgei' 


Jim!" That pleased everybody. And when 
a poetical Beverly man — he had been mak- 
ing it up all day, and talked about it for 
weeks — sang, "The Carrie Pitman s anchor 
does n't hold her for a (ient ! '•' the dories felt 
that they were indeed fortunate. Then they 
had to ask that Beverly man how he was 
off for beans, because even poets must not 
have things all their own way. Every 
schooner and nearly every man got it in 
turn. Was there a careless or dirty cook 
anywhere ? The dories sang about him and 
his food. Was a schooner badly found? 
The Fleet was told at full length. Had a 
man hooked tobacco from a messmate ? He 
was named in meeting ; the name tossed 
from roller to roller. Disko's infallible judg- 
ments, Long Jack's market-boat that he had 
sold years ago, Dan's sweetheart (oh, but 
Dan was an angry boy !), Penn's bad luck 
with dory-anchors, Salters's views on manure, 
Manuel's little slips from virtue ashore, and 
Harvey's ladylike handling of the oar — all 
were laid before the public ; and as the fog 
fell around them in silvery sheets beneath 
the sun, the voices sounded like a bench of 
invisible judges pronouncing sentence. 


The dories roved and fished and squab- 
bled till a swell underran the sea. Then 
they drew more apart to save their sides, 
and some one called that if the swell con- 
tinued the Virgin would break. A reckless 
Galway man with his nephew denied this, 
hauled up anchor, and rowed over the very 
rock itself. Many voices called them to come 
away, while others dared them to hold on. 
As the smooth-backed rollers passed to the 
southward, they hove the dory high and high 
into the mist, and dropped her in ugly, suck- 
ing, dimpled water, where she spun round 
her anchor, within a foot or two of the hidden 
rock. It was playing with death for mere 
bravado ; and the boats looked on in uneasy 
silence till Long Jack rowed up behind his 
countrymen and quietly cut their roding. 

" Can't ye hear ut knockin' ? " he cried. 
" Pull for your miserable lives ! Pull ! " 

The men swore and tried to argue as the 
boat drifted ; but the next swell checked a 
little, like a man tripping on a carpet. There 
was a deep sob and a gathering roar, and 
the Virgin flung up a couple of acres of foam- 
ing water, white, furious, and ghastly over 
the shoal sea. Then all the boats greatly ap- 


plauded Long Jack, and the Galway men 
held their tongue. 

"Ain't it elegant?" said Dan, bobbing like 
a young seal at home. " She '11 break about 
once every ha'af hour now, 'less the swell 
piles up good. What 's her reg'lar time when 
she 's at work, Tom Piatt ? " 

" Once ivry fifteen minutes, to the tick. 
Harve, you 've seen the greatest thing on the 
Banks ; an' but for Long Jack you 'd seen 
some dead men too." 

There came a sound of merriment where 
the fog lay thicker and the schooners were 
rinofine their bells. A bior bark nosed cau- 
tiously out of the mist, and was received with 
shouts and cries of, " Come along, darlin'," 
from the Irishry. 

"Another Frenchman?" said Harvey. 

"Hain't you eyes? She 's a Baltimore 
boat; goin' in fear an' tremblin'," said Dan. 
*' We '11 guy the very sticks out of her. Guess 
it 's the fust time her skipper ever met up 
with the Fleet this way." 

She was a black, buxom, eight-hundred- 
ton craft. Her mainsail was looped up, and 
her topsail flapped undecidedly in what little 
wind was moving. Now a bark is feminine 


beyond all other daughters of the sea, and 
this tall, hesitating creature, with her white 
and gilt figurehead, looked just like a bewil- 
dered woman half lifting her skirts to cross a 
muddy street under the jeers of bad little 
boys. That was very much her situation. 
She knew she was somewhere in the neigh- 
borhood of the Virgin, had caught the roar of 
it, and was, therefore, asking her way. This 
is a small part of what she heard from the 
dancing dories : 

** The Virgin ? Fwhat are you talkin' of? 
This is Le Have on a Sunday mornin*. Go 
home an' sober up." 

" Go home, ye tarrapin ! Go home an' tell 
'em we 're comin'." 

Half a dozen voices together, in a most 
tuneful chorus, as her stern went down with 
a roll and a bubble into the troughs: " Thay- 
aah — she — strikes ! " 

" Hard up ! Hard up fer your life ! You're 
on top of her now." 

" Daown ! Hard daown ! Let go every- 
thing ! " 

** All hands to the pumps ! " 

" Daown jib an' pole her ! " 

Here the skipper lost his temper and said 


things. Instantly fishing was suspended to 
answer h'lm, and he heard many curious facts 
about his boat and her next port of call. They 
asked him if he were insured ; and whence he 
had stolen his anchor, because, they said, it 
belonged to the Carrie Pitman; they called 
his boat a mud-scow, and accused him of 
dumping garbage to frighten the fish ; they 
offered to tow him and charge it to his wife ; 
and one audacious youth slipped almost under 
the counter, smacked it with his open palm, 
and yelled : " Gid up, Buck ! " 

The cook emptied a pan of ashes on him, 
and he replied with cod-heads. The bark's 
crew fired small coal from the galley, and the 
dories threatened to come aboard and "razee"' 
her. They would have warned her at once 
had she been in real peril ; but, seeing her 
well clear of the Virgin, they made the most 
of their chances. The fun was spoilt when 
the rock spoke again, a half-mile to windward, 
and the tormented bark set everything that 
would draw and went her ways ; but the dories 
felt that the honors lay with them. 

All that night the Virgin roared hoarsely ; 
and next morning, over an angry, white- 
headed sea, Harvey saw the Fleet with flicker- 


ing masts waiting for a lead. Not a dory was 
hove out till ten o'clock, when the two Jeraulds 
of the Days Eye, imagining a lull which did 
not exist, set the example. In a minute half 
the boats were out and bobbing in the cockly 
swells, but Troop kept the We 're Heres at 
work dressing down. He saw no sense in 
** dares " ; and as the storm grew that even- 
ing they had the pleasure of receiving wet 
strangers only too glad to make any refuge 
in the gale. The boys stood by the dory- 
tackles with lanterns, the men ready to haul, 
one eye cocked for the sweeping wave that 
would make them drop everything and hold 
on for the dear life. Out of the dark would 
come a yell of " Dory, dory ! " They would 
hook up and haul in a drenched man and a 
half-sunk boat, till their decks were littered 
down with nests of dories and the bunks were 
full. Five times in their watch did Harvey, 
with Dan, jump at the fore-gaff where it lay 
lashed on the boom, and cling with arms, legs, 
and teeth to rope and spar and sodden canvas 
as a big wave filled the decks. One dory was 
smashed to pieces, and the sea pitched the 
man head first on to the decks, cutting his 


forehead open ; and about dawn, when the 
racing seas gHmmered white all along their 
cold edges, another man, blue and ghastly, 
crawled in with a broken hand, asking news 
of his brother. Seven extra mouths sat 
down to breakfast : a Swede ; a Chatham 
skipper; a boy from Hancock, Maine; one 
Duxbury, and three Provincetown men. 

There was a general sorting out among 
the Fleet next day; and though no one said 
anything, all ate with better appetites when 
boat after boat reported full crews aboard. 
Only a couple of Portuguese and an old man 
from Gloucester were drowned, but many 
were cut or bruised ; and two schooners had 
parted their tackle and been blown to the 
southward, three days' sail. A man died on 
a Frenchman — it was the same bark that 
had traded tobacco with the We 're Heres. 
She slipped away quite quietly one wet, white 
morning, moved to a patch of deep water, 
her sails all hanging anyhow, and Harvey 
saw the funeral through Disko's spy-glass. 
It was only an oblong bundle slid overside. 
They did not seem to have any form of ser- 
vice, but in the night, at anchor, Harvey 


heard them across the star-powdered black 
water, singing something that sounded Hke 
a hymn. It went to a very slow tune. 

La brigantine 
Qui va tourner, 
Roule et s'incline 
Pour m'entrainer. 
Oh, Vierge Marie, 
Pour moi priez Dieul 
Adieu, patrie; 
Quebec, adieu ! 

Tom Piatt visited her, because, he said, the 
dead man was his brother as a Freemason. 
It came out that a wave had doubled the 
poor fellow over the heel of the bowsprit 
and broken his back. The news spread 
like a flash, for, contrary to general custom, 
the Frenchman held an auction of the dead 
man's kit, — he had no friends at St. Malo 
or Miquelon, — and everything was spread 
out on the top of the house, from his red 
knitted cap to the leather belt with the 
sheath-knife at the back. Dan and Harvey 
were out on twenty-fathom water in the 
Hattie S., and naturally rowed over to join 
the crowd. It was a long pull, and they 
stayed some little time while Dan bought 


the knife, which had a curious brass handle. 
When they dropped overside and pushed 
off into a drizzle of rain and a lop of sea, it 
occurred to them that they might get into 
trouble for neglecting the lines. 

" Guess 't won't hurt us any to be warmed 
up," said Dan, shivering under his oilskins, 
and they rowed on into the heart of a white 
fog, which, as usual, dropped on them with- 
out warning. 

" There 's too much blame tide hereabouts 
to trust to your instinks," he said. " Heave 
over the anchor, Harve, and we '11 fish a piece 
till the thing lifts. Bend on your biggest lead. 
Three pound ain't any too much in this water. 
See how she 's tightened on her rodin' already." 

There was quite a little bubble at the bows, 
where some irresponsible Bank current held 
the dory full stretch on her rope ; but they 
could not see a boat's length in any direction. 
Harvey turned up his collar and bunched 
himself over his reel with the air of a wearied 
navigator. Fog had no special terrors for 
him now. They fished awhile in silence, and 
found the cod struck on well. Then Dan 
drew the sheath-knife and tested the edge of 
it on the gunwale. 


" That *s a daisy," said Harvey. ** How 
did you get it so cheap ? " 

" On account o' their blame Cath'Hc super- 
stitions," said Dan, jabbing with the bright 
blade. "They don't fancy takin' iron frum 
off of a dead man, so to speak. 'See them 
Arichat Frenchmen step back when I bid ? " 

" But an auction ain't taking anything off a 
dead man. It 's business." 

" We know it ain't, but there 's no goin' in 
the teeth o' superstition. That 's one o' the 
advantages o' livin' in a progressive country." 
And Dan began whistling : 

" Oh, Double Thatcher, how are you ? 
Now Eastern Point comes inter view. 
The girls an' boys we soon shall see, 
At anchor off Cape Ann ! " 

" Why did n't that Eastport man bid, then ? 
He bought his boots. Ain't Maine pro- 
gressive ? " 

"Maine? Pshaw! They don't know 
enough, or they hain't got money enough, to 
paint their haouses in Maine. I 've seen 'em. 
The Eastport man he told me that the knife 
had been used — so the French captain told 
him — used up on the French coast last year." 


"Cut a man? Heave 's the muckle." Har- 
vey hauled in his fish, rebaited, and threw 

" Killed him ! Course, when I heard that I 
was keener 'n ever to get it." 

" Christmas ! I did n't know it," said Har- 
vey, turning round. '* I '11 give you a dollar 
for it when I — get my wages. Say, I '11 give 
you two dollars." 

"Honest? D' you like it as much as all 
that? " said Dan, flushing. "Well, to tell the 
truth, I kinder got it for you — to give ; but I 
did n't let on till I saw how you 'd take it. 
It 's yours and welcome, Harve, because we 're 
dory-mates, and so on and so forth, an' so 
followin'. Catch a-holt ! " 

He held it out, belt and all. 

" But look at here. Dan, I don't see — " 

"Take it. 'T ain't no use to me. I wish 
you to hev it." 

The temptation was irresistible. " Dan, 
you 're a white man," said Harvey. " I '11 
keep it as long as I live." 

"That 's good hearin'," said Dan, with a 
pleasant laugh ; and then, anxious to change 
the subject: " 'Look 's if your line was fast to 


" Fouled, I guess," said Harve, tugging. 
Before he pulled up he fastened the belt 
round him, and with deep delight heard the 
tip of the sheath click on the thwart. " Con- 
cern the thing!" he cried. "She acts as 
though she were on strawberry-bottom. It 's 
all sand here, ain't it ? " 

Dan reached over and gave a judgmatic 
tweak. " Holibut '11 act that way 'f he 's 
sulky. Thet 's no strawberry-bottom. Yank 
her once or twice. She gives, sure. Guess 
we 'd better haul up an' make certain." 

They pulled together, making fast at each 
turn on the cleats, and the hidden weight rose 

" Prize, oh ! Haul ! " shouted Dan, but the 
shout ended in a shrill, double shriek of hor- 
ror, for out of the sea came — the body of the 
dead Frenchman buried two days before ! The 
hook had caught him under the right armpit, 
and he swayed, erect and horrible, head and 
shoulders above water. His arms were tied 
to his side, and — he had no face. The boys 
fell over each other in a heap at the bottom of 
the dory, and there they lay while the thing 
bobbed alongside, held on the shortened line. 

"The tide-'— the tide brought him!" said 


Harvey with quivering lips, as he fumbled at 
the clasp of the belt. 

"Oh, Lord! Oh, Harve!" groaned Dan, 
"be quick. He 's come for it. Let him have 
it. Take it off" 

" I don't want it ! / don't want it ! " cried 
Harvey. " I can't find the bu-buckle." 

" Quick, Harve ! He 's on your line ! " 

Harvey sat up to unfasten the belt, facing 
the head that had no face under its streaming 
hair. " He 's fast still," he whispered to Dan, 
who slipped out his knife and cut the line, as 
Harvey flung the belt far overside. The body 
shot down with a plop, and Dan cautiously 
rose to his knees, whiter than the fog. 

"He come for it. He come for it. I 've 
seen a stale one hauled up on a trawl and 
I did n't much care, but he come to us special." 

"I wish — I wish I had n't taken the knife. 
Then he 'd have come on yoiu^ line." 

" Dunno as thet would ha' made any differ. 
We Ve both scared out o' ten years' growth. 
Oh, Harve, did ye see his head ? " 

" Did I ? I '11 never foro^et it. But look at 
here, Dan ; it could n't have been meant. It 
was only the tide." 

" Tide ! He come for it, Harve. Why, 


they sunk him six mile to south'ard o' the 
Fleet, an' we 're two miles from where she 's 
lyin' now. They told me he was weighted 
with a fathom an' a half o' chain-cable." 

"'Wonder what he did with the knife — up 
on the French coast ? " 

" Something bad. 'Guess he 's bound to 
take it with him to the Judgment, an' so — 
What are you doin' with the fish ? " 

" Heaving 'em overboard," said Harvey. 

"What for? We sha'n't eat 'em." 

" I don't care. I had to look at his face 
while I was takin' the belt off. You can 
keep your catch if you like. I 've no use for 

Dan said nothing, but threw his fish over 

" Guess it 's best to be on the safe side," he 
murmured at last. " I 'd give a month's pay 
if this fog 'u'd lift. Things go abaout in a fog 
that ye don't see in clear weather — yo-hoes 
an' hollerers and such like. I 'm sorter re- 
lieved he come the way he did instid o' walkin'. 
He might ha' walked." 

" Do-on't, Dan! We 're right on top of him 
now. 'Wish I was safe aboard, bein' pounded 
by Uncle Salters." 


"They '11 be lookin' fer us in a little. Gimme 
the tooter." Dan took the tin dinner-horn, 
but paused before he blew. 

** Go on," said Harvey. " I don't want to 
stay here all night." 

" Question is, haow he 'd take it. There 
was a man frum down the coast told me once 
he was in a schooner where they darse n't ever 
blow a horn to the dories, becaze the skipper 
— not the man he was with, but a captain 
that had run her five years before — he 'd 
drownded a boy alongside in a drunk fit ; an' 
ever after, that boy he 'd row alongside too 
and shout, ' Dory ! dory ! ' with the rest." 

" Dory ! dory ! " a muffled voice cried 
through the fog. They cowered again, and 
the horn^ dropped from Dan's hand. 

"Hold on!" cried Harvey; "it 's the cook." 

" Dunno what made me think, o' thet fool 
tale, either," said Dan. " It 's the doctor, 
sure enough." 

" Dan ! Danny ! Oooh, Dan ! Harve ! 
Harvey ! Oooh, Haarveee ! " 

" We 're here," sung both boys together. 
They heard oars, but could see nothing till 
the cook, shining and dripping, rowed into 


"What iss happened?" said he. "You 
will be beaten at home." 

" Thet 's what we want. Thet 's what 
we 're sufferin' for," said Dan. ." Anything 
homey 's good enough fer us. We 've had 
kinder depressin' company." As the cook 
passed them a line, Dan told him the tale. 

" Yess ! He come for hiss knife," was all 
he said at the end. 

Never had the little rocking We 're Here 
looked so deliciously home-like as when the 
cook, born and bred in fogs, rowed them 
back to her. There was a warm glow of 
light from the cabin and a satisfying smell 
of food forward, and it was heavenly to 
hear Disko and the others, all quite alive 
and solid, leaning over the rail and promis- 
ing them a first-class pounding. But the 
cook was a black master of strategy. He 
did not get the dories aboard till he had 
given the more striking points of the tale, 
explaining as he backed and bumped round 
the counter how Harvey was the mascot to 
destroy any possible bad luck. So the boys 
came overside as rather uncanny heroes, and 
every one asked them questions instead of 
pounding them for making trouble. Little 


Penn delivered quite a speech on the folly 
of superstitions ; but public opinion was 
against him and in favor of Long Jack, 
who told the most excruciating ghost-stories 
till nearly midnight. Under that influence 
no one except Salters and Penn said any- 
thing about "idolatry" when the cook put 
a lighted candle, a cake of flour and water, 
and a pinch of salt on a shingle, and floated 
them out astern to keep the Frenchman 
quiet in case he was still restless. Dan lit 
the candle because he had bought the belt, 
and the cook o^runted and muttered charms 
as long as he could see the ducking point 
of flame. 

Said Harvey to Dan, as they turned 
in after watch : " How about progress and 
Catholic superstitions ? " 

" Huh ! I or-uess I 'm as enlig^htened and 
progressive as the next man, but when it 
comes to a dead St. Malo deck-hand scarin' a 
couple o' pore boys stiff fer the sake of 
a thirty-cent knife, why, then, the cook can 
take hold fer all o' me. I mistrust furriners, 
livin' or dead." 

Next morning all, except the cook, were 
rather ashamed of the ceremonies, and went 


to work double tides, speaking gruffly to one 

The We 're Here was racing neck and neck 
for her last few loads against the Parry Nor- 
man ; and so close was the struggle that the 
fleet took sides and betted tobacco. All 
hands worked at the lines or dressing-down 
till they fell asleep where they stood — begin- 
ning before dawn and ending when it was too 
dark to see. They even used the cook as 
pitcher, and turned Harvey into the hold to 
pass salt, while Dan helped to dress down. 
Luckily a Parry Norman man sprained his 
ankle falling down the foc'sle, and the We We 
Heres gained. Harvey could not see how 
one more fish could be crammed into her, but 
Disko and Tom Piatt stowed and stowed, and 
planked the mass down with big stones from 
the ballast, and there was always "jest an- 
other day's work." Disko did not tell them 
when all the salt was wetted. He rolled to 
the lazarette aft the cabin and began hauling 
out the big mainsail. This was at ten in the 
morning. The riding-sail was down and the 
main- and topsail were up by noon, and dories 
came alongside with letters for home, envy- 
ing their good fortune. At last she cleared 



decks, hoisted her flag, — as is the right of 
the first boat off the Banks, — up-anchored, 
and began to move. Disko pretended that 
he wished to accommodate folk who had not 
sent in their mail, and so worked her grace- 
fully in and out among the schooners. In re- 
ality, that was his little triumphant procession, 
and for the fifth year running it showed what 
kind of mariner he was. Dan's accordion 
and Tom Piatt's fiddle supplied the music of 
the magic verse you must not sing till all the 
salt is wet : 

" Hih ! Yih ! Yoho ! Send your letters raound ! 
All our salt is wetted, an' the anchor 's off the graound ! 
Bend, oh, bend your mains'l, we 're back to Yankee- 

With fifteen hunder' quintal, 
An' fifteen hunder' quintal, 
'Teen hunder' toppin' quintal, 
'Twix' old 'Queereau an' Grand." 

The last letters pitched on deck wrapped 
round pieces of coal, and the Gloucester men 
shouted messapfes to their wives and women- 
folk and owners, while the We 're Hej'e fin- 
ished the musical ride through the Fleet, her 
headsails quivering like a man's hand when 
he raises it to say good-by. 


Harvey very soon discovered that the 
We 're Here, with her riding-sail, strolHng 
from berth to berth, and the We 're Here 
headed west by south under home canvas, 
were two very different boats. There was a 
bite and kick to the wheel even in " boy's " 
weather ; he could feel the dead weight in the 
hold flung forward mightily across the surges, 
and the streaming line of bubbles overside 
made his eyes dizzy. 

Disko kept them busy fiddling with the 
sails ; and when those were flattened like a 
racing yacht's, Dan had to wait on the big 
topsail, which was put over by hand every 
time she went about. In spare moments they 
pumped, for the packed fish dripped brine, 
which does not improve a cargo. But since 
there was no fishing, Harvey had time to look 
at the sea from another point of view. The 
low-sided schooner was naturally on most in- 
timate terms with her surroundings. They 
saw little of the horizon save when she topped 
a swell ; and usually she was elbowing, fidget- 
ing, and coaxing her steadfast way through 
gray, gray-blue, or black hollows laced across 
and across with streaks of shivering foam ; or 
rubbing herself caressingly along the flank of 


some bigger water-hill. It was as if she said: 
"You would n't hurt me, surely? I 'm only 
the little We 're Here'' Then she would slide 
away chuckling softly to herself till she was 
brought up by some fresh obstacle. The 
dullest of folk cannot see this kind of thingr 
hour after hour through long days without 
noticing it ; and Harvey, being anything but 
dull, began to comprehend and enjoy the dry 
chorus of wave-tops turning over with a sound 
of incessant tearing ; the hurry of the winds 
working across open spaces and herding the 
purple-blue cloud-shadows ; the splendid up- 
heaval of the red sunrise ; the folding and 
packing away of the morning mists, wall after 
wall withdrawn across the white floors ; the 
salty glare and blaze of noon ; the kiss of 
rain falling over thousands of dead, flat square 
miles ; the chilly blacke^iing of everything at 
the day's end ; and the million wrinkles of the 
sea under the moonlight, when the jib-boom 
solemnly poked at the low stars, and Harvey 
went down to get a doughnut from the cook. 
But the best fun was when the boys were 
put on the wheel together, Tom Piatt within 
hail, and she cuddled her lee-rail down to the 

crashing blue, and kept a little home-made 


rainbow arching unbroken over" her wind- 
lass. Then the jaws of the booms whined 
against the masts, and the sheets creaked, 
and the sails filled with roaring ; and when 
she slid into a hollow she trampled like a wo- 
man tripped in her own silk dress, and came 
out, her jib wet half-way up, yearning and 
peering for the tall twin-lights of Thatcher's 

They left the cold gray of the Bank sea, 
saw the lumber-ships making for Quebec by 
the Straits of St. Lawrence, with the Jersey 
salt-brigs from Spain and Sicily ; found a 
friendly northeaster off Artimon Bank that 
drove them within view of the East light of 
Sable Island, — a sight Disko did not linger 
over, — and stayed with them past Western 
and Le Have, to the northern fringe of 
George's. From there they picked up the 
deeper water, and let her go merrily. 

" Hattie 's pulling on the string," Dan con- 
fided to Harvey. " Hattie an' ma. Next 
Sunday you '11 be hirin' a boy to throw water 
on the windows to make ye go to sleep. 
'Guess you '11 keep with us till your folks 
come. Do you know the best of gettin* 
ashore again ? " 


"Hot bath?" said Harvey. His eyebrows 
were all white with dried spray. 

"That's good, but a night-shirt's better. 
I 've been dreamin' o' night-shirts ever since 
we bent our mainsail. Ye can wiggle your 
toes then. Ma '11 hev a new one fer me, all 
washed soft. It 's home, Harve. It 's home ! 
Ye can sense it in the air. We 're runnin' 
into the aidge of a hot wave naow, an' I can 
smell the bayberries. Wonder if we '11 get 
in fer supper. Port a trifle." 

The hesitating sails flapped and lurched in 
the close air as the deep smoothed out, blue 
and oily, round them. When they whistled 
for a wind only the rain came in spiky rods, 
bubbling and drumming, and behind the rain 
the thunder and the lightning of mid-August. 
They lay on the deck with bare feet and arms, 
telling one another what they would order at 
their first meal ashore ; for now the land was 
in plain sight. A Gloucester swordfish-boat 
drifted alongside, a man in the little pulpit on 
the bowsprit flourishing his harpoon, his bare 
head plastered down with the wet. "And all 's 
well ! " he sang cheerily, as though he were 
watch on a bio- liner. " Wouverman 's waitino; 
fer you, Disko. What 's the news o' the Fleet?" 


Disko shouted it and passed on, while the 
wild summer storm pounded overhead and 
the lightning flickered along the capes from 
four different quarters at once. It gave the 
low circle of hills round Gloucester Harbor, 
Ten Pound Island, the fish-sheds, with the 
broken line of house-roofs, and each spar and 
buoy on the water, in blinding photographs 
that came and went a ^ozen times to the 
minute as the We 're Here crawled in on half- 
flood, and the whistling-buoy moaned and 
mourned behind her. Then the storm died 
out in long, separated, vicious dags of blue- 
white flame, followed by a single roar like 
the roar of a mortar-battery, and the shaken 
air tingled under the stars as it got back to 

"The flag, the flag!" said Disko, suddenly, 
pointing upward. 

" What is ut ? " said Long Jack. 

"Otto ! Ha'af mast. They can see us 
frum shore now." 

** I 'd clean forgot. He *s no folk to Glou- 
cester, has he ? " 

** Girl he was goin' to be married to this 

"Mary pity her!" said Long Jack, and 



lowered the little flag half-mast for the sake 
of Otto, swept overboard in a gale off Le 
Have three months before. 

Disko wiped the wet from his eyes and led 
the We *re Here to Wouverman's wharf, giv- 
ing his orders in whispers, while she swung 
round moored tugs and night-watchmen 
hailed her from the ends of inky-black piers. 
Over and above the darkness and the mys- 
tery of the procession, Harvey could feel the 
land close round him once more, with all its 
thousands of people asleep, and the smell of 
earth after rain, and the familiar noise of 
a switching-engine coughing to herself in a 
freight-yard ; and all those things made his 
heart beat and his throat dry up as he stood 
by the foresheet. They heard the anchor- 
watch snoring on a lighthouse-tug, nosed 
into a pocket of darkness where a lantern 
glimmered on either side ; somebody waked 
with a grunt, threw them a rope, and they 
made fast to a silent wharf flanked with great 
iron-roofed sheds full of warm emptiness, and 
lay there without a sound. 

Then Harvey sat down by the wheel, and 
sobbed and sobbed as though his heart would 
break, and a tall woman who had been sit- 


ting on a weigh-scale dropped down into 
the schooner and kissed Dan once on the 
cheek ; for she was his mother, and she had 
seen the We 're Here by the lightning flashes. 
She took no notice of Harvey till he had re- 
covered himself a little and Disko had told 
her his story. Then they went to Disko's 
house together as the dawn was breaking ; 
and until the telegraph office was open and 
he could wire to his folk, Harvey Cheyne was 
perhaps the loneliest boy in all America. But 
the curious thing was that Disko and Dan 
seemed to think none the worse of him for 

Wouverman was not ready for Disko's 
prices till Disko, sure that the We We Here 
was at least a week ahead of any other Glou- 
cester boat, had given him a few days to 
swallow them ; so all hands played about the 
streets, and Long Jack stopped the Rocky 
Neck trolley, on principle, as he said, till the 
conductor let him ride free. But Dan went 
about with his freckled nose in the air, bung- 
full of mystery and most haughty to his 

" Dan, I '11 hev to lay inter you ef you act 
this way," said Troop, pensively. " Sence 


we 've come ashore this time you Ve bin a 
heap too fresh." 

" I 'd lay into him naow ef he was mine," 
said Uncle Salters, sourly. He and Penn 
boarded with the Troops. 

" Oho ! " said Dan, shuffling with the accor- 
dion round the back-yard, ready to leap the 
fence if the enemy advanced. " Dad, you 're 
welcome to your own jedgment, but remem- 
ber I 've warned ye. Your own flesh an' 
blood ha' warned ye! 'T ain't any o' viy 
fault ef you 're mistook, but I '11 be on deck 
to watch ye. An' ez fer yeou, Uncle Salters, 
Pharaoh's chief butler ain't in it 'longside o' 
you ! You watch aout an' wait. You '11 be 
plowed under like your own blamed clover; 
but me — Dan Troop — I '11 flourish like a 
green bay-tree because / war n't stuck on my 
own opinion." 

Disko was smoking in all his shore dig- 
nity and a pair of beautiful carpet-slippers. 
"You 're gettin' ez crazy as poor Harve. 
You two go araound gigglin' an' squinchin' 
an' kickin' each other under the table till 
there *s no peace in the haouse," said he. 

" There 's goin' to be a heap less — fer some 
folks," Dan replied. ** You wait an' see." 


He and Harvey went out on the trolley to 
East Gloucester, where they tramped through 
the bayberry bushes to the lighthouse, and 
lay down on the big red boulders and laughed 
themselves hungry. Harvey had shown Dan 
a telegram, and the two swore to keep silence 
till the shell burst. 

"Harve's folk?" said Dan, with an unruffled 
face after supper. " Well, I guess they don't 
amount to much of anything, or we 'd ha' 
heard frum 'em by naow. His pop keeps a 
kind o' store out West. Maybe he '11 give 
you 's much as five dollars, dad." 

"What did I tell ye? " said Salters. " Don't 
sputter over your vittles, Dan." 


WHATEVER his private sorrows maybe, 
a multimillionaire, like any other work- 
ingman, should keep abreast of his business. 
Harvey Cheyne, senior, had gone East late 
in June to meet a woman broken down, half 
mad, who dreamed day and night of her son 
drowning in the gray seas. He had sur- 
rounded her with doctors, trained nurses, 
massage-women, and even faith-cure com- 
panions, but they were useless. Mrs. Cheyne 
lay still and moaned, or talked of her boy by 
the hour together to any one who would 
listen. Hope she had none, and who could 
offer it ? All she needed was assurance that 
drowning did not hurt ; and her husband 
watched to guard lest she should make the 
experiment. Of his own sorrow he spoke 
little — hardly realized the depth of it till he 
caught himself asking the calendar on his 
writing-desk, "What 's the use of going on ? " 



There had always lain a pleasant notion at 
the back of his head that, some day, when he 
had rounded off everything and the boy had 
left college, he would take his son to his heart 
and lead him, into his possessions. Then that 
boy, he argued, as busy fathers do, would in- 
stantly become his companion, partner, and 
ally, and there would follow splendid years 
of great works carried out together — the old 
head backing the young fire. Now his boy 
was dead — lost at sea, as it might have been 
a Swede sailor from one of Cheyne's big tea- 
ships ; the wife was dying, or worse ; he him- 
self was trodden down by platoons of women 
and doctors and maids and attendants ; wor- 
ried almost beyond endurance by the shift 
and change of her poor restless whimsj hope- 
less, with no heart to meet his many enemies. 

He had taken the wife to his raw new pal- 
ace in San Diego, where she and her people 
occupied a wing of great price, and Cheyne, 
in a veranda-room, between a secretary and 
a typewriter, who was also a telegraphist, 
toiled along wearily from day to day. There 
was a war of rates among four Western rail- 
roads in which he was supposed to be inter- 


ested ; a devastating strike had developed in 
his lumber-camps in Oregon, and the legisla- 
ture of the State of California', which has no 
love for its makers, was preparing open war 
against him. 

Ordinarily he would have accepted battle 
ere it was offered, and have waged a pleasant 
and unscrupulous campaign. But now he sat 
limply, his soft black hat pushed forward on 
to his nose, his big body shrunk inside his 
loose clothes, staring at his boots or the Chi- 
nese junks in the bay, and assenting absently 
to the secretary's questions as he opened the 
Saturday mail. 

Cheyne was wondering how much it would 
cost to drop everything and pull out. He 
carried huge insurances, could buy himself 
royal annuities, and between one of his places 
in Colorado and a little society (that would 
do the wife good), say in Washington and 
the South Carolina islands, a man might for- 
get plans that had come to nothing. On the 
other hand . . . 

The click of the typewriter stopped ; the 
girl was looking at the secretary, who had 
turned white. 


He passed Cheyne a telegram repeated 
from San Francisco: 

Picked tip by fishing schooner We 're He7X 
haviitg fallen off boat great times on Banks 
fishing all well waiting Gloucester Mass care 
Disko Troop for money or orders wire what 
shall do and how is mama Harvey N, 

The father let it fall, laid his head down on 
the roller-top of the shut desk, and breathed 
heavily. The secretary ran for Mrs. Cheyne's 
doctor, who found Cheyne pacing to and fro. 

"What — what d' you think of it? Is it 
possible? Is there any meaning to it? I 
can't quite make it out," he cried. 

" I can," said the doctor. *' I lose seven 
thousand a year — that's all," He thought 
of the struggling New York practice he had 
dropped at Cheyne's imperious bidding, and 
returned the teleo^ram with a sio^h. 

"You mean you 'd tell her? 'May be a 

"What 's the motive?" said the doctor, 
coolly, " Detection 's too certain. It 's the 
boy sure enough." 


Enter a French maid, impudently, as an in- 
dispensable one who is kept on only by large 

** Mrs. Cheyne she say you must come at 
once. She think you are seek." 

The master of thirty millions bowed his 
head meekly and followed Suzanne ; and a 
thin, high voice on the upper landing of the 
great white-wood square staircase cried: 
♦'What is it? What has happened?" 

No doors could keep out the shriek that 
rang through the echoing house a moment 
later, when her husband blurted out the news. 

** And that 's all right," said the doctor, se- 
renely, to the typewriter. " About the only 
medical statement in novels with any truth to 
it is that joy don't kill. Miss Kinzey." 

" I know it; but we 've a heap to do first." 
Miss Kinzey was from Milwaukee, somewhat 
direct of speech ; and as her fancy leaned to- 
wards the secretary, she divined there was 
work in hand. He was looking earnestly at 
the vast roller- map of America on the wall. 

*' Milsom, we 're going right across. Pri- 
vate car — straight through — Boston. Fix 
the connections," shouted Cheyne down the 


•♦ I thought SO." 

The secretary turned to the typewriter, and 
their eyes met (out of that was born a story 
— nothing to do with this story). She looked 
inquiringly, doubtful of his resources. He 
signed to her to move to the Morse as a gen- 
eral brings brigades into action. Then he 
swept his hand musician-wise through his 
hair, regarded the ceiling, and set to work, 
while Miss Kinzey's white fingers called up 
the Continent of America. 

'' K. H. Wade, Los Angeles — The 'Con- 
stance ' is at Los Angeles, is n't she. Miss 
Kinzey ? " 

"Yep." Miss Kinzey nodded between clicks 
as the secretary looked at his watch. 

"Ready? Send 'Constance' private car, 
here, and arrange for special to leave here 
Sunday ijt time to connect with New York 
Lhnited at Sixteenth Street, Chicago^ Tues- 
day next'' 

Click — click — click ! " Could n't you bet- 
ter that ? " 

" Not on those grades. That gives 'em 
sixty hours from here to Chicago. They 
won't gain anything by taking a special east 
of that. Ready? Also arrange with Lake 


Shore and Michigan Southern to take ' Con- 
stance' on New York Central and Hudson 
River Buffalo to Albany, and B. and A. the 
same A Ibany to Boston. Indispensable I should 
reach Boston Wednesday evening. Be sure 
nothing prevents. Have also wired Canniff, 
Toucey, and Barnes. — Sign, Cheyne." 

Miss Kinzey nodded, and the secretary 
went on, 

" Now then. Canniff, Toucey, and Barnes, 
of course. Ready ? Canniff^ Chicago. Please 
take my private car ' Constance ' fro7n Sa?ita 
Fe at Sixteenth Street next Tuesday p. m. on 
N. Y. Limited through to Buffalo and deliver 
N. Y. Cfor Albany. — Ever bin to N' York, 
Miss Kinzey? We'll go some day. — Ready? 
Take car Buffalo to Albany on Limited Tues- 
day p. m. That 's for Toucey." 

" Have n't bin to Noo York, but I know 
that ! " with a toss of the head. 

" Beg pardon. Now, Boston and Albany, 
Barnes, same instructions from Albany 
through to Boston. Leave three-five p. m. 
(you need n't wire that) ; arrive nine-five p. m. 
Wednesday. That covers everything Wade 
will do, but it pays to shake up the man- 


" It's great," said Miss Kinzey, with a look 
of admiration. This was the kind of man she 
understood and appreciated. 

" 'T is n't bad," said Milsom, modestly. 
** Now, any one but me would have lost thirty 
hours and spent a week working out the run, 
instead of handing him over to the Sante Fe 
straight through to Chicago." 

" But see here, about that Noo York Lim- 
ited. Chauncey Depew himself could n't 
hitch his car to her,'' Miss Kinzey suggested, 
recovering herself 

" Yes, but this is n't Chauncey. It 's Cheyne 

— liofhtnino-. It oroes." 

o o o 

" Even so. Guess we 'd better wire the 
boy. You 've forgotten that, anyhow." 

" I '11 ask." 

When he returned with the father's mes- 
sage bidding Harvey meet them in Boston 
at an appointed hour, he found Miss Kin- 
zey laughing over the keys. Then Milsom 
laughed too, for the frantic clicks from Los 
Angeles ran : " We want to know why — why 

— why? General uneasiness developed and 

Ten minutes later Chicago appealed to 
Miss Kinzey in these words: '^I/crmie of cen- 


iury is maturing please warn friends in time. 
We are all getting to cover here.'' 

This was capped by a message from To- 
peka (and wherein Topeka was concerned 
even Milsom could not guess): '^ Don t shoot, 
Colonel. We ' II come down.'' 

Cheyne smiled grimly at the consternation 
of his enemies when the telegrams were laid 
before him. " They think we 're on the war- 
path. Tell 'em we don't feel like fighting just 
now, Milsom. Tell 'em what we 're going 
for. I guess you and Miss Kinzey had better 
come along, though it is n't likely I shall do 
any business on the road. Tell 'em the truth 
— for once." 

So the truth was told. Miss Kinzey clicked 
in the sentiment while the secretary added the 
memorable quotation, " Let us have peace," 
and in board-rooms two thousand miles away 
the representatives of sixty-three million dol- 
lars' worth of variously manipulated railroad 
interests breathed more freely. Cheyne was 
flying to meet the only son, so miraculously 
restored to him. The bear was seeking his 
cub, not the bulls. Hard men who had their 
knives drawn to fight for their financial lives 
put away the weapons and wished him God- 


speed, while half a dozen panic-smitten tin-pot 
roads perked up their heads and spoke of 
the wonderful things they would have done 
had not Cheyne buried the hatchet. 

It was a busy week-end among the wires ; 
for, now that their anxiety was removed, men 
and cities hastened to accommodate. Los 
Angeles called to San Diego and Barstow 
that the Southern California engineers might 
know and be ready in their lonely round- 
houses ; Barstow passed the word to the 
Atlantic and Pacific ; and Albuquerque flung 
it the whole length of the Atchison, Topeka, 
and Santa Fe management, even into Chicago. 
An engine, combination-car with crew, and the 
great and gilded "Constance" private car 
were to be " expedited " over those two thou- 
sand three hundred and fifty miles. The train 
would take precedence of one hundred and 
seventy-seven others meeting and passing ; 
despatchers and crews of every one of those 
said trains must be notified. Sixteen loco- 
motives, sixteen engineers, and sixteen fire- 
men would be needed — each and every one 
the best available. Two and one half minutes 
would be allowed for changing engines, three 
for watering, and two for coaling. " Warn the 


men, and arrange tanks and chutes accord- 
ingly ; for Harvey Cheyne is in a hurry, a 
hurry — a hurry," sang the wires. "Forty 
miles an hour will be expected, and division 
superintendents will accompany this special 
over their respective divisions. From San 
Diego to Sixteenth Street, Chicago, let the 
magic carpet be laid down. Hurry ! oh, 
hurry ! " 

" It will be hot," said Cheyne, as they rolled 
out of San Diego in the dawn of Sunday. 
" We 're going to hurry, mama, just as fast as 
ever we can ; but I really don't think there 's 
any good of your putting on your bonnet and 
gloves yet. You 'd much better lie down and 
take your medicine. I 'd play you a game o' 
dominoes, but it 's Sunday." 

" I '11 be good. Oh, I will be good. Only 
— taking off my bonnet makes me feel as if 
we 'd never get there." 

*' Try to sleep a little, mama, and we '11 be 
in Chicago before you know." 

" But it 's Boston, father. Tell them to 

The six-foot drivers were hammering their 
way to San Bernardino and the Mohave 
wastes, but this was no grade for speed. 


That would come later. The heat of the 
desert followed the heat of the hills as they 
turned east to the Needles and the Colorado 
River. The car cracked in the utter drouth 
and glare, and they put crushed ice to Mrs. 
Cheyne's neck, and toiled up the long, long 
grades, past Ash Fork, towards Flagstaff, 
where the forests and quarries are, under the 
dry, remote skies. The needle of the speed- 
indicator flicked and wao-aed to and fro ; the 
cinders rattled on the roof, and a whirl of dust 
sucked after the whirling wheels. The crew 
of the combination sat on their bunks, pant- 
ing in their shirt-sleeves, and Cheyne found 
himself among them shouting old, old stories 
of the railroad that every trainman knows, 
above the roar of the car. He told them 
about his son, and how the sea had given up 
its dead, and they nodded and spat and re- 
joiced with him ; asked after " her, back 
there," and whether she could stand it if the 
engineer " let her out a piece," and Cheyne 
thought she could. Accordingly, the great 
fire-horse was "let out" from Flaestaff to 
Winslow, till a division superintendent pro- 

But Mrs. Cheyne, in the boudoir state 


room, where the French maid, sallow-white 
with fear, clung to the silver door-handle, 
only moaned a little and begged her husband 
to bid them " hurry." And so they dropped 
the dry sands and moon-struck rocks of Ari- 
zona behind them, and grilled on till the crash 
of the couplings and the wheeze of the brake- 
hose told them they were at Coolidge by the 
Continental Divide. 

Three bold and experienced men — cool, 
confident, and dry when they began ; white, 
quivering, and wet when they finished their 
trick at those terrible wheels — swung her 
over the great lift from Albuquerque to Glo- 
rietta and beyond Springer, up and up to the 
Raton Tunnel on the State line, whence they 
dropped rocking into La Junta, had sight of 
the Arkansaw, and tore down the long slope 
to Dodge City, where Cheyne took comfort 
once again froin setting his watch an hour 

There was very little talk in the car. The 
secretary and typewriter sat together on 
the stamped Spanish-leather cushions by the 
plate-glass observation-window at the rear 
end, watching the surge and ripple of the ties 
crowded back behind them, and, it is believed, 


making notes of the scenery. Cheyne moved 
nervously between his own extravagant gor- 
geousness and the naked necessity of the 
combination, an unht cigar in his teeth, till 
the pitying crews forgot that he was their 
tribal enemy, and did their best to enter- 
tain him. 

At night the bunched electrics lit up that 
distressful palace of all the luxuries, and they 
fared sumptuously, swinging on through the 
emptiness of abject desolation. Now they 
heard the swish of a water-tank, and the gut- 
tural voice of a Chinaman, the clink-clink of 
hammers that tested the Krupp steel wheels, 
and the oath of a tramp chased off the rear- 
platform ; now the solid crash of coal shot 
into the tender ; and now a beating back 
of noises as they flew past a waiting train. 
Now they looked out into great abysses, a 
trestle purring beneath their tread, or up to 
rocks that barred out half the stars. Now 
scaur and ravine changed and rolled back to 
jagged mountains on the horizon's edge, and 
now broke into hills lower and' lower, till at 
last came the true plains. 

At Dodge City an unknown hand threw in 
a copy of a Kansas paper containing some 


sort of an interview with Harvey, who had 
evidently fallen in with an enterprising re- 
porter, telegraphed on from Boston. The 
joyful journalese revealed that it was beyond 
question their boy, and it soothed Mrs, Cheyne 
for a while. Her one word " hurry " was con- 
veyed by the crews to the engineers at Nick- 
erson, Topeka, and Marceline, where the 
grades are easy, and they brushed the Con- 
tinent behind them. Towns and villages 
were close together now, and a man could 
feel here that he moved among people. 

** I can't see the dial, and my eyes ache so. 
What are we doing ? " 

" The very best we can, mama. There 's 
no sense in getting in before the Limited. 
We 'd only have to wait." 

" I don't care. I want to feel we 're mov- 
ing. Sit down and tell me the miles." 

Cheyne sat down and read the dial for her 
(there were some miles which stand for rec- 
ords to this day), but the seventy-foot car 
never changed its long steamer-like roll, mov- 
ing through the heat with the hum of a giant 
bee. Yet the speed was not enough for Mrs. 
Cheyne ; and the heat, the remorseless Au- 
gust heat, was making her giddy ; the clock- 


hands would not move, and when, oh, when 
would they be in Chicago ? 

It is not true that, as they changed en- 
gines at Fort Madison, Cheyne passed over 
to the Amalgamated Brotherhood of Loco- 
motive Enorineers an endowment sufficient to 
enable them to fight him and his fellows on 
equal terms for evermore. He paid his obli- 
gations to engineers and firemen as he be- 
lieved they deserved, and only his bank 
knows what he gave the crews who had sym- 
pathized with him. It is on record that the 
last crew took entire charge of switching 
operations at Sixteenth Street, because "she" 
was in a doze at last, and Heaven was to help 
any one who bumped her. 

Now the highly paid specialist who conveys 
the Lake Shore and Michigan Southern Lim- 
ited from Chicago to Elkhart is something of 
an autocrat, and he does not approve of being 
told how to back up to a car. None the less 
he handled the "Constance" as if she might 
have been a load of dynamite, and when the 
crew rebuked him, they did it in whispers 
and dumb show. 

" Pshaw ! " said the Atchison, Topeka, and 
Santa Fe men, discussing life later, "we were 


n't runnin' for a record. Harvey Cheyne's 
wife, she were sick back, an' we did n't want 
to jounce her. 'Come to think of it, our run- 
nin' time from San Diecro to Chicago was 
57.54. You can tell that to them Eastern 
way-trains. When we 're tryin' for a record, 
we '11 let you know." 

To the Western man (though this would 
not please either city) Chicago and Boston 
are cheek by jowl, and some railroads en- 
courage the delusion. The Limited whirled 
the "Constance" into Buffalo and the arms 
of the New York Central and Hudson River 
(illustrious magnates with white whiskers and 
gold charms on their watch-chains boarded 
her here to talk a little business to Cheyne), 
who slid her gracefully into Albany, where 
the Boston and Albany completed the run 
from tide-water to tide-water — total time, 
eighty-seven hours and thirty-five minutes, 
or three days, fifteen hours and one half 
Harvey was waiting for them. 

After violent emotion most people and all 
boys demand food. They feasted the returned 
prodigal behind drawn curtains, cut off in 
their great happiness, while the trains roared 


in and out around them. Harvey ate, drank, and 
enlarged on his adventures all in one breath, 
and when he had a hand free his mother 
fondled it. His voice was thickened with liv- 
ing in the open, salt air; his palms were rough 
and hard, his wrists dotted with the marks of 
gurry-sores ; and a fine full flavor of cod-fish 
hung round rubber boots and blue jersey. 

The father, well used to judging men, 
looked at him keenly. He did not know 
what enduring harm the boy might have 
taken. Indeed, he caught himself thinking 
that he knew very little whatever of his son ; 
but he distinctly remembered an unsatisfied, 
dough-faced youth who took delight in "call- 
ing down the old man " and reducing his mo- 
ther to tears — such a person as adds to the 
gaiety of public rooms and hotel piazzas, 
where the ingenuous young of the wealthy 
play with or revile the bell-boys. But this 
well set-up fisher-youth did not wriggle, 
looked at him with eyes steady, clear, and 
unflinching, and spoke in a tone distinctly, 
even startlingly, respectful. There was that 
in his voice, too, which seemed to promise that 
the change might be permanent, and that the 
new Harvey had come to stay. 


" Some one *s been coercing him," thought 
Cheyne. " Now Constance would never have 
allowed that. Don't see as Europe could have 
done it any better." 

** But why did n't you tell this man, Troop, 
who you were ? " the mother repeated, when 
Harvey had expanded his story at least twice. 

** Disko Troop, dear. The best man that 
ever walked a deck. I don't care who the 
next is." 

** Why did n't you tell him to put you 
ashore ? You know papa would have made 
it up to him ten times over." 

*' I know it ; but he thought I was crazy. 
I 'm afraid I called him a thief because I 
could n't find the bills in my pocket." 

** A sailor found them by the flagstaff that 
— that night," sobbed Mrs. Cheyne. 

"That explains it, then. I don't blame 
Troop any. I just said I would n't work — 
on a Banker, too — and of course he hit me 
on the nose, and oh ! I bled like a stuck hog." 

** My poor darling ! They must have 
abused you horribly." 

" Dunno quite. Well, after that, I saw a 


Cheyne slapped his leg and chuckled. This 


was going to be a boy after his own hungry 
heart. He had never seen precisely that twin- 
kle in Harvey's eye before. 

" And the old man gave me ten and a half 
a month ; he 's paid me half now ; and I took 
hold with Dan and pitched right in. I can't 
do a man's work yet. But I can handle a dory 
'most as well as Dan, and I don't get rattled 
In a fog — much ; and I can take my trick in 
light winds — that 's steering, dear — and I 
can 'most bait up a trawl, and I know my 
ropes, of course ; and I can pitch fish till the 
cows come home, and I 'm great on old 
Josephus, and I '11 show you how I can clear 
coffee with a piece of fish-skin, and — I think 
I '11 have another cup, please. Say, you 've no 
notion what a heap of work there is in ten and 
a half a month 1 " 

" I began with eight and a half, my son," 
said Cheyne. 

"'That so? You never told me, sir." 

" You never asked, Harve. I '11 tell you 
about it some day, if you care to listen. Try 
a stuffed olive." 

*' Troop says the most interesting thing in 
the world is to find out how the next man 
gets his vittles. It 's great to have a trimmed- 


up meal again. We were well fed, though. 
Best mug on the Banks. Disko fed us first- 
class. He 's a great man. And Dan — that's 
his son — Dan 's my partner. And there 's 
Uncle Salters and his manures, an' he reads 
Josephus. He 's sure I 'm crazy yet. And 
there 's poor little Penn, and he is crazy. You 
must n't talk to him about Johnstown, be- 
cause — And, oh, you must know Tom Piatt 
and Long Jack and Manuel. Manuel saved 
my life. I 'm sorry he 's a Portugee. He 
can't talk much, but he 's an everlasting mu- 
sician. He found me struck adrift and drift- 
ing, and hauled me in." 

" I wonder your nervous system is n't com- 
pletely wrecked," said Mrs. Cheyne. 

"What for, mama? ^I worked like a horse 

and^I ate like a hog and I slept like a dead 

That was too much for Mrs. Cheyne, who 
began to think of her visions of a corpse rock- 
ing on the salty seas. She went to her state- 
room, and Harvey curled up beside his father, 
explaining his indebtedness. 

" You can depend upon me to do every- 
thing I can for the crowd, Harve. They seem 
to be good men on your showing." 


" Best in the fleet, sir. Ask at Gloucester," 
said Harvey. " But Disko believes still he '3 
cured me of being crazy. Dan 's the only 
one I Ve let on to about you, and our private 
cars and all the rest of it, and I 'm not quite 
sure Dan believes. I want to paralyze 'em 
to-morrow. Say, can't they run the ' Con- 
stance' over to Gloucester? Mama don't 
look fit to be moved, anyway, and we 're 
bound to finish cleaning out by to-morrow. 
Wouverman takes our fish. You see, we 're 
first off the Banks this season, and it 's four 
twenty-five a quintal. We held out till he 
paid it. They want it quick." 

" You mean you '11 have to work to-mor- 
row, then ? " 

" I told Troop I would. I 'm on the scales. 

've brought the tallies with me." He looked 

at the greasy notebook with an air of impor- 

\tance that made his father choke. " There 

is n't but three — no — two ninety-four or five 

quintal more by my reckoning." 

" Hire a substitute," suggested Cheyne, to 
see what Harvey would say. 

"Can't, sir. I 'm tally-man for the schooner. 
Troop says I 've a better head for figures than 
Dan. Troop 's a mighty just man." 



"Well, suppose I don't move the 'Con- 
stance' to-night, how '11 you fix it?" 

Harvey looked at the clock, which marked 
twenty past eleven. 

"Then I '11 sleep here till three and catch 
the four o'clock freight. They let us men 
from the Fleet ride free as a rule." 

"That 's a notion. But I think we can 
get the ' Constance ' around about as soon 
as your men's freight. Better go to bed 

Harvey spread himself on the sofa, kicked 
off his boots, and was asleep before his father 
could shade the electrics. Cheyne sat watch- 
ing the young face under the shadow of the 
arm thrown over the forehead, and among 
many things that occurred to him was the 
notion that he might perhaps have been neg- 
lectful as a father. 

" One never knows when one *s taking 
one 's biggest risks," he said. " It might 
have been worse than drowning ; but I don't 
think it has — I don't think it has. If it 
has n't, I have n't enough to pay Troop, that 's 
all ; and I don't think it has." 

Morning brought a fresh sea breeze through 
the windows, the "Constance" was side-tracked 


among freight-cars at Gloucester, and Harvey 
had gone to his business. 

"Then he '11 fall overboard again and be 
drowned," the mother said bitterly. 

" We '11 go and look, ready to throw him 
a rope in case. You 've never seen him 
working for his bread," said the father. 

" What nonsense ! As if any one ex- 
pected — " 

"Well, the man that hired him did. He *s 
about right, too." 

They went down between the stores full of 
fishermen's oilskins to Wouverman's wharf, 
where the We 're Here rode high, her Bank 
flag still flying, all hands busy as beavers in 
the glorious morning light. Disko stood by 
the main hatch superintending Manuel, Penn, 
and Uncle Salters at the tackle. Dan' was 
swinging the loaded baskets inboard as Long 
Jack and Tom Piatt filled them, and Harvey, 
with a notebook, represented the skipper's 
interests before the clerk of the scales on the 
salt-sprinkled wharf-edge. 

"Ready ! " cried the voices below. " Haul ! " 
cried Disko. " Hi ! " said Manuel. " Here ! " 
said Dan, swinging the basket. Then they 


heard Harvey's voice, clear and fresh, check- 
inor the weig-hts. 

The last of the fish had been whipped out, 
and Harvey leaped from the string-piece six 
feet to a ratline, as the shortest way to hand 
Disko the tally, shouting, " Two ninety-seven, 
and an empty hold ! " 

" What 's total, Harve ? " said Disko. 

" Eight sixty-five. Three thousand six 
hundred and seventy-six dollars and a. quar- 
ter. 'Wish 1 'd share as well as wage." 

'* W^ell, I won't go so far as to say you 
hev n't deserved it, Harve. Don't you want 
to slip up to Wouverman's office and take 
him our tallies ? " 

" Who 's that boy ? " said Cheyne to Dan, 
well used to all manner of questions from 
those idle imbeciles called summer boarders. 

"Well he 's a kind o' supercargo," was 
the answer. "We picked him up struck 
adrift on the Banks. Fell overboard from a 
liner, he sez. He was a passenger. He 's 
by way o' bein' a fisherman now." 

" Is he worth his keep ? " 

" Ye-ep. Dad, this man wants to know 
ef Harve 's worth his keep. Say, would you 


like to go aboard ? We '11 fix a ladder for 

** I should very much, indeed. 'T won't 
hurt you, mama, and you '11 be able to see for 

The woman who could not lift her head a 
week ago scrambled down the ladder, and 
stood aghast amid the mess and tangle aft. 

" Be you anyways interested in Harve ? " 
said Disko. 

"Well, ye-es." 

" He 's a good boy, an' ketches right hold 
jest as he 's bid. You 've heard haow we 
found him ? He was sufferin' from nervous 
prostration, I guess, 'r else his head had hit 
somethin', when we hauled him aboard. He 's 
all over that naow. Yes, this is the cabin. 
'T ain't anyways in order, but you 're quite 
welcome to look around. Those are his 
figures on the stove-pipe, where we ke6p the 
reckonin' mostly." 

** Did he sleep here ? " said Mrs. Cheyne, 
sitting on a yellow locker and surveying the 
disorderly bunks. 

"No. He berthed forward, madam, an' 
only fer him an' my boy hookin' fried pies an' 
muggin' up when they ought to ha' been 


asleep, I dunno as I 've any special fault to 
find with him." 

" There were n't nothin' wrong with Harve," 
said Uncle Salters, descending the steps. "He 
hung my boots on the main-truck, and he ain't 
over an' above respectful to such as knows 
more 'n he do, specially about farmin' ; but he 
were mostly misled by Dan." 

Dan in the meantime, profiting by dark 
hints from Harvey early that morning, was 
executing a war-dance on deck. *'Tom, 
Tom ! " he whispered down the hatch. ** His 
folks has come, an' dad hain't caught on yet, 
an' they 're pow-wowin' in the cabin. She 's 
a daisy, an' he 's all Harve claimed he was, by 
the looks of him." 

"Howly Smoke!" said Long Jack, climbing 
out covered with salt and fish-skin. " D' ye 
belave his tale av the kid an' the little four- 
horse rig was thrue ? " 

" I knew it all along," said Dan. " Come 
an' see dad mistook in his judgments." 

They came delightedly, just in time to hear 
Cheyne say: " I 'm glad he has a good char- 
acter, because — he 's my son." 

Disko's jaw fell, — Long Jack always 
vowed that he heard the click of it, — and 


he Stared alternately at the man and the 

" I got his telegram in San Diego four days 
ago, and we came over." 

"In a private car?" said Dan. "He said 
ye might." 

"In a private car, of course." 

Dan looked at his father with a hurricane 
of irreverent winks. 

" There was a tale he tould us av drivin' 
four little ponies in a rig av his own," said 
Long Jack. " Was that thrue now ? " 

"Very likely," said Cheyne. "Was it, 
mama? " 

" He had a little drag when we were in 
Toledo, I think," said the mother. 

Long Jack whistled. " Oh, Disko ! " said 
he, and that was all. 

"I wuz — I am mistook in my jedgments 
— worse 'n the men o' Marblehead," said 
Disko, as though the words were being wind- 
lassed out of him. " I don't mind ownin' to 
you, Mister Cheyne, as I mistrusted the boy 
to be crazy. He talked kinder odd about 

" So he told me." 

"Did he tell ye anything else? 'Cause 


I pounded him once." This with a somewhat 
anxious glance at Mrs. Cheyne. 

•*Oh, yes," Cheyne replied. "I should say 
it probably did him more good than anything 
else in the world." 

" I jedged 't wuz necessary, er I would n't 
ha' done it. I don't want you to think we 
abuse our boys any on this packet." 

" I don't think you do, Mr. Troop." 

Mrs. Cheyne had been looking at the faces 
— Disko's ivory-yellow, hairless, iron coun- 
tenance; Uncle Salters's, with its rim of agri- 
cultural hair; Penn's bewildered simplicity; 
Manuel's quiet smile ; Long Jack's grin o( 
delight, and Tom Piatt's scar. Rough, by 
her standards, they certainly were ; but she 
had a mother's wits in her eyes, and she rose 
with outstretched hands. 

" Oh, tell me, which is who ? " said she, 
half sobbing. " I want to thank you and bless 
you — all of you." 

*' Faith, that pays me a hunder time," said 
Long Jack. 

Disko introduced them all in due form. 
The captain of an old-time Chinaman could 
have done no better, and Mrs. Cheyne bab- 
bled incoherently. She nearly threw herself 


into Manuel's arms when she understood that 
he had first found Harvey. 

" But how shall I leave him dreeft ? " said 
poor Manuel. *' What do you yourself if you 
find him so ? Eh, wha-at ? We are in one 
good boy, and I am ever so pleased he come 
to be your son." 

" And he told me Dan was his partner ! " 
she cried. Dan was already sufficiently pink, 
but he turned a rich crimson when Mrs. 
Cheyne kissed him on both cheeks before the 
assembly. Then they led her forward to show 
her the foc'sle, at which she wept again, and 
must needs go down to see Harvey's identical 
bunk, and there she found the nigger cook 
cleaning up the stove, and he nodded as 
though she were some one he had expected 
to meet for years. They tried, two at a time, 
to explain the boat's daily life to her, and she 
sat by the pawl-post, her gloved hands on 
the greasy table, laughing with trembling lips 
and crying with dancing eyes. 

** And who 's ever to use the We 're Here 
after this ? " said Long Jack to Tom Piatt. 
'• I feel it as if she 'd made a cathedral av 
ut all." 

" Cathedral ! " sneered Tom Piatt. " Oh, 


ef it had bin even the Fish C'mmission boat 
instid o' this bally-hoo o' blazes. Ef we 
only hed some decency an' order an' side- 
boys when she goes over ! She '11 have to 
climb that ladder like a hen, an' we — we 
ought to be mannin' the yards ! " 

"Then Harvey was 7iot mad," said Penn, 
slowly, to Cheyne. 

"No, indeed — thank God," the big mil- 
lionaire replied, stooping down tenderly. 

" It must be terrible to be mad. Except 
to lose your child, I do not know anything 
more terrible. But your child has come back ? 
Let us thank God for that." 

" Hello ! " said Harvey, looking down upon 
them benignly from the wharf. 

" I wuz mistook, Harve. I wuz mistook," 
said Disko, swiftly, holding up a hand. " I 
wuz mistook in my jedgments. Ye need n't 
rub it in any more." 

" Guess I '11 take care o' that," said Dan, 
under his breath. 

" You '11 be goin' off naow, won't ye ? " 

"Well, not without the balance of my 
wages, 'less you want to have the We We Here 

'• Thet 's so ; I 'd clean forgot " ; and he 


counted out the remaining dollars. " You 
done all you contracted to do, Harve; and 
you done it 'baout 's well as ef you 'd been 
brought up — " Here Disko brought himself 
up. He did not quite see where the sentence 
was going to end. 

" Outside of a private car ? " suggested Dan, 

" Come on, and I '11 show her to you," said 

Cheyne stayed to talk to Disko, but the 
others made a procession to the depot, with 
Mrs. Cheyne at the head. The French maid 
shrieked at the invasion ; and Harvey laid 
the glories of the "Constance" before them 
without a word. They took them in in equal 
silence — stamped leather, silver door-handles 
and rails, cut velvet, plate-glass, nickel, bronze, 
hammered iron, and the rare woods of the 
continent inlaid. 

" I told you," said Harvey ; " I told you." 
This was his crowning revenge, and a most 
ample one. 

Mrs. Cheyne decreed a meal ; and that no- 
thing might be lacking to the tale Long Jack 
told afterwards in his boarding-house, she 
waited on them herself. Men who are ac- 



customed to eat at tiny tables in howling 
gales have curiously neat and finished table- 
manners ; but Mrs. Cheyne, who did not 
know this, was surprised. She longed to 
have Manuel for a butler; so silently and 
easily did he comport himself among the frail 
glassware and dainty silver. Tom Piatt re- 
membered great days on the Ohio and the 
manners of foreign potentates who dined with 
the officers ; and Long Jack, being Irish, 
supplied the small talk till all were at their 

In the We 're Heres cabin the fathers took 
stock of each other behind their cigars. 
Cheyne knew well enough when he dealt 
with a man to whom he could not offer 
money ; equally well he knew that no money 
could pay for what Disko had done. He 
kept his own counsel and waited for an open- 

*' I hev n't done anything to your boy or 
fer your boy excep' make him work a piece 
an' learn him how to handle the hog-yoke," 
said Disko. *' He has twice my boy's head 
for figgers." 

" By the way," Cheyne answered casually. 
" what d' you calculate to make of your boy?" 


Disko removed his cigar and waved it com- 
prehensively round the cabin. *' Dan 's jest 
plain boy, an' he don't allow me to do any 
of his thinkin'. He '11 hev this able little 
packet when I 'm laid by. He ain't no- 
ways anxious to quit the business. I know 

" Mmm ! 'Ever been West,' Mr. Troop ? " 

"'Bin 's fer ez Noo York once in a boat. 
I 've no use for railroads. No more hez Dan. 
Salt water 's good enough fer the Troops. 
I 've been 'most everywhere — in the nat'ral 
way, o' course." 

" I can give him all the salt water he 's 
likely to need — till he 's a skipper." 

" Haow 's that? I thought you wuz a 
kinder railroad king. Harve told me so when 
— I was mistook in my jedgments." 

" We 're all apt to be mistaken. I fancied 
perhaps you might know I own a line of tea- 
clippers — San Francisco to Yokohama — six 
of 'em — -iron-built, about seventeen hundred 
and eighty tons apiece." 

" Blame that boy ! He never told. I 'd 
ha' listened to that, instid o' his truck abaout 
railroads an' pony-carriages." 

** He did n't know." 


" 'Little thing like that slipped his mind, 1 

"No, I only capt — took hold of the 'Blue 
M.' freighters — Morgan and McQuade's old 
line — this summer." 

Disko collapsed where he sat, beside the 

" Great Caesar Almighty ! I mistrust I Ve 
bin fooled from one end to the other. Why, 
Phil Airheart he went from this very town 
six year back — no, seven — an' he 's mate 
on the San Jose now — twenty-six days was 
her time out. His sister she 's livin' here 
yet, an' she reads his letters to my woman. 
An' you own the ' Blue M.' freighters? " 

Cheyne nodded. 

" If I 'd known that I 'd ha' jerked the 
We 're Here back to port all standin', on the 

" Perhaps that would n't have been so good 
for Harvey." 

" Ef I 'd only known ! Ef he 'd only said 
about the cussed Line, I 'd ha' understood ! 
I '11 never stand on my own jedgments again 
— never. They 're well-found packets. Phil 
Airheart he says so." 

" I 'm glad to have a recommend from that 


quarter. Airheart 's skipper of the San Jose 
now. What I was getting at is to know 
whether you 'd lend me Dan for a year or 
two, and we '11 see if we can't make a mate 
of him. Would you trust him to Airheart ? " 
" It 's a resk taking a raw boy — " 
" I know a man who did more for me." 
"That 's diff'runt. Look at here naow, I 
ain't recommendin' Dan special because he 's 
my own flesh an' blood. / know Bank ways 
ain't clipper ways, but he hain't much to learn. 
Steer he can — no boy better, ef / say it — 
an' the rest 's in our blood an' get ; but I 
could wish he war n't so cussed weak on 

"Airheart will attend to that. He '11 ship 
as a boy for a voyage or two, and then we 
can put him in the way of doing better. 
Suppose you take him in hand this winter, 
and I '11 send for him early in the spring. I 
know the Pacific 's a long ways off — " 

" Pshaw ! We Troops, livin' an' dead, are 
all around the earth an' the seas thereof." 

"But I want you to understand — and I 
mean this — any time you think you 'd like 
to see him, tell me, and I '11 attend to the 
transportation. 'T won't cost you a cent." 


" Ef you '11 walk a piece with me, we '11 
go to my house an' talk this to my woman. 
I Ve bin so crazy mistook in all my jedg- 
ments, it don't seem to me this was like to 
be real." 

They went over to Troop's eighteen-hun- 
dred-dollar, blue-trimmed white house, with a 
retired dory full of nasturtiums in the front 
yard and a shuttered parlor which was a mu- 
seum of oversea plunder. There sat a large 
woman, silent and grave, with the dim eyes 
of those who look long to sea for the return 
of their beloved. Cheyne addressed himself 
to her, and she gave consent wearily. 

*' We lose one hundred a year from Glou- 
cester only, Mr. Cheyne," she said — "one 
hundred boys an' men ; and I 've come so 's 
to hate the sea as if 't wuz alive an' listenin'. 
God never made it fer humans to anchor on. 
These packets o' yours they go straight out, 
I take it, and straight home again ? " 

"As straight as the winds let 'em, and I 
give a bonus for record passages. Tea don't 
improve by being at sea." 

"When he wuz little he used to play at 
keeping store, an' I had hopes he might fol- 
low that up. But soon 's he could paddle a 


dory I knew that were goin' to be denied 

"They 're square-riggers, mother; iron- 
built an' well found. Remember what Phil's 
sister reads you when she gits his letters." 

'• I Ve never known as Phil told lies, but 
he 's too venturesome (like most of 'em that 
use the sea). Ef Dan sees fit, Mr. Cheyne, 
he can go — fer all o' me." 

" She jest despises the ocean," Disko ex- 
plained, " an' I — I dunno haow to act polite, 
I guess, er I 'd thank you better." 

" My father — my own eldest brother — two 
nephews — an' my second sister's man," she 
said, dropping her head on her hand. "Would 
you care fer any one that took all those ? " 

Cheyne was relieved when Dan turned up 
and accepted with more delight than he was 
able to put into words. Indeed, the offer 
meant a plain and sure road to all desirable 
things ; but Dan thought most of command- 
ing watch on broad decks, and looking into 
far-away harbors. 

Mrs. Cheyne had spoken privately to the 
unaccountable Manuel in the matter of Har- 
vey's rescue. He seemed to have no desire for 
money. Pressed hard, he said that he would 


take five dollars, because he wanted to buy 
something for a girl. Otherwise — "How 
shall I take money when I make so easy my 
eats and smokes ? You will giva some if 
I like or no ? Eh, wha-at ? Then you shall 
giva me money, but not that way. You shall 
giva all you can think." He introduced her to 
a snuffy Portuguese priest with a list of semi- 
destitute widows as long as his cassock. As 
a strict Unitarian, Mrs. Cheyne could not 
sympathize with the creed, but she ended by 
respecting the brown, voluble little man. 

Manuel, faithful son of the Church, appro- 
priated all the blessings showered on her for 
her charity. "That letta me out," said he. 
'* I have now ver' good absolutions for six 
months" ; and he strolled forth to get a hand- 
kerchief for the girl of the hour and to break 
the hearts of all the others. 

Salters went West for a season with Penn, 
and left no address behind. He had a dread 
that these millionary people, with wasteful 
private cars, might take undue interest in his 
companion. It was better to visit inland rel- 
atives till the coast was clear. " Never you 
be adopted by rich folk, Penn," he said in the 
cars, " or I '11 take 'n' break this checker-board 


over your head. Ef you forgit your name 
agin — which is Pratt — you remember you 
belong with Salters Troop, an' set down right 
where you are till I come fer you. Don't go 
taggin* araound after them whose eyes bung 
out with fatness, accordin' to Scripcher." 


BUT it was otherwise with the We 're 
Heres silent cook, for he came up, his 
kit in a handkerchief, and boarded the *' Con- 
stance." Pay was no particular object, and 
he did not in the least care where he slept. 
His business, as revealed to him in dreams, 
was to follow Harvey for the rest of his days. 
They tried argument and, at last, persuasion ; 
but there is a difference between one Cape 
Breton and two Alabama negroes, and the 
matter was referred to Cheyne by the cook 
and porter. The millionaire only laughed. 
He presumed Harvey might need a body- 
servant some day or other, and was sure that 
one volunteer was worth five hirelings. Let 
the man stay, therefore ; even though he called 
himself MacDonald and swore in Gaelic. 
The car could go back to Boston, where, if 
he were still of the same mind, they would 
take him West. '^ 

283 « 



With the " Constance," which in his heart 
of hearts he loathed, departed the last rem- 
nant of Cheyne's millionaircdom, and he gave 
himself up to an energetic idleness. This 
Gloucester was a new town in a new land, 
and he purposed to "take it in," as of old he 
had taken in all the cities from Snohomish to 
San Dieofo of that world whence he hailed. 
They made money along the crooked street 
which was half wharf and half ship's store: 
as a leading professional he wished to learn 
how the noble game was played. Men said 
that four out of every five fish-balls served at 
New England's Sunday breakfast came from 
Gloucester, and overwhelmed him with figures 
in proof — statistics of boats, gear, wharf- 
frontage, capital invested, salting, packing, 
factories, insurance, wages, repairs, and prof- 
its. He talked with the owners of the large 
fleets whose skippers were little more than 
hired men, and whose crews were almost all 
Swedes or Portuguese. Then he conferred 
with Disko, one of the few who owned their 
craft, and compared notes in his vast head. 
He coiled himself away on chain-cables in 
marine junk-shops, asking questions with 
cheerful, unslaked Western curiosity, till all 


the water-front wanted to know "what in 
thunder that man was after, anyhow." He 
prowled into the Mutual Insurance rooms, 
and demanded explanations of the mysterious 
remarks chalked up on the blackboard day by 
day ; and that brought down upon him secre- 
taries of every Fisherman's Widow and Or- 
phan Aid Society within the city limits. They 
begged shamelessly, each man anxious to beat 
the other institution's record, and Cheyne 
tugged at his beard and handed them all over 
to Mrs. Cheyne. 

She was resting in a boarding-house near 
Eastern Point — a strange establishment, 
managed, apparently, by the boarders, where 
the table-cloths were red-and-white-check- 
ered, and the population, who seemed to 
have known one another intimately for years, 
rose up at midnight to make Welsh rarebits 
if it felt hungry. On the second morning of 
her stay Mrs. Cheyne put away her diamond 
solitaires before she came down to breakfast. 

"They 're most delightful people," she con- 
fided to her husband ; " so friendly and sim- 
ple, too, though they are all Boston, nearly." 

"That is n't simpleness, mama," he said, 
looking across the boulders behind the apple- 


trees where the hammocks were slung". " It 's 
the other thing, that we — that I have n't got." 

" It can't be," said Mrs. Cheyne, quietly. 
"There is n't a woman here owns a dress 
that cost a hundred dollars. Why, we — " 

"I know it, dear. We have — of course 
we have. I guess it 's only the style they 
wear East. Are you having a good time ? " 

" I don't see very much of Harvey ; he 's 
always with you ; but I ain't near as nervous 
as I was." 

"/ have n't had such a good time since 
Willie died. I never rightly understood that 
I had a son before this. Harve 's got to be a 
great boy. 'Anything I can fetch you, dear ? 
'Cushion under your head ? Well, we '11 
go down to the wharf again and look 

Harvey was his father's shadow in those 
days, and the two strolled along side by .side, 
Cheyne using the grades as an excuse for 
laying his hand on the boy's square shoulder. 
It was then that Harvey noticed and admired 
what had never struck him before — his father's 
curious power of getting at the heart of new 
matters as learned from men in the street. 

" How d' you make 'em tell you everything 


without Opening your head ? " demanded the 
son, as they came out of a rigger's loft. 

" I 've dealt with quite a few men in my 
time, Harve, and one sizes 'em up somehow, 
I guess. I know something about myself, too." 
Then, after a pause, as they sat down on a 
wharf-edge : " Men can 'most always tell 
when a man has handled things for himself, 
and then they treat him as one of themselves." 

" Same as they treat me down at Wouver- 
man's wharf I 'm one of the crowd now. 
Disko has told every one I 've earned my 
pay." Harvey spread out his hands and 
rubbed the palms together. " They 're all 
soft again," he said dolefully. 

" Keep 'em that way for the next few 
years, while you 're getting your education. 
You can harden 'em up after." 

" Ye-es, I suppose so," was the reply, in no 
delighted voice. 

" It rests with you, Harve. You can take 
cover behind your mama, of course, and put 
her on to fussing about your nerves and your 
high-strungness and all that kind of poppy- 

"Have I ever done that?" said Harvey, 


His father turned where he sat and thrust 
out a long hand. " Yoti know as well as 1 
do that I can't make anything of you if you 
don't act straight by me. I can handle you 
alone if you '11 stay alone, but I don't pre- 
tend to manage both you and mama. Life 's 
too short, anyway." 

** Don't make me out much of a fellow, 
does it ? " 

" I guess it was my fault a good deal ; but 
if you want the truth, you have n't been much 
of anything up to date. Now, have you ? " 

** Umm ! Disko thinks . . . Say, what 
d' you reckon it 's cost you to raise me from 
the start — first last and all over ? " 

Cheyne smiled. " I 've never kept track, 
but I should estimate, in dollars and cents, 
nearer fifty than forty thousand ; maybe sixty. 
The young generation comes high. It has 
to have things, and it tires of 'em, and — the 
old man foots the bill." 

Harvey whistled, but at heart he was rather 
pleased to think that his upbringing had cost 
so much. ** And all that 's sunk capital, 
is n't it?" 

" Invested, Harve. Invested, I hope." 

*' Making it only thirty thousand, the thirty 






I 've earned is about ten cents on the hun- 
dred. That 's a mighty poor catch." Harvey 
wagged his head solemnly. 

Cheyne laughed till he nearly fell off the 
pile into the water. 

" Disko has got a heap more than that out 
of Dan since he was ten ; and Dan 's at school 
half the year, too." 

*' Oh, that 's what you 're after, is it ?" 

" No. I 'm not after anything. I 'm not 
stuck on myself any just now — that 's 
all. ... I ought to be kicked." 

" I can't do it, old man ; or I would, I pre- 
sume, if I 'd been made that way." 
. " Then I 'd have remembered it to the last 
day I lived — and 7ie'uer forgiven you," said 
Harvey, his chin on his doubled fists. 

"Exactly. That's about what I'd do. 
You see?" 

" I see. The fault 's with me and no one 
else. All the samey, something's got to be 
done about it." 

Cheyne drew a cigar from his vest-pocket, 
bit off the end, and fell to smoking. Father 
and son were very much alike ; for the beard 
hid Cheyne's mouth, and Harvey had his 
father's slightly aquiline nose, close-set black 


eyes, and narrow, high cheek-bones. With 
a touch of brown paint he would have made 
up very picturesquely as a Red Indian of the 

" Now you can go on from here," said 
Cheyne, slowly, "costing me between six or 
eight thousand a year till you 're a voter. 
Well, we '11 call you a man then. You can 
go right on from that, living on me to the 
tune of forty or fifty thousand, besides what 
your mother will give you, with a valet and a 
yacht or a fancy-ranch where you can pre- 
tend to raise trotting-stock and play cards 
with your own crowd." 

"Like Lorry Tuck?" Harvey put in. 

"Yep; or the two De Vitre boys or old man 
McQuade's son. California's full of 'em, and 
here 's an Eastern sample while we 're talking." 

A shiny black steam-yacht, with mahog- 
any deck-house, nickel-plated binnacles, and 
pink-and-white-striped awnings, puffed up the 
harbor, flying the burgee of some New York 
club. Two young men in what they con- 
ceived to be sea costumes were playing cards 
by the saloon skylight; and a couple of women 
with red and blue parasols looked on and 
laughed noisily. 


"Should n't care to be caught out in her 
in any sort of a breeze. No beam," said Har- 
vey, critically, as the yacht slowed to pick up 
her mooring-buoy. 

" They 're having what stands them for a 
good time. I can give you that, and twice as 
much as that, Harve. How 'd you like it?" 

" Caesar ! That 's no way to get a dinghy 
overside," said Harvey, still intent on the 
yacht. " If I could n't slip a tackle better 
than that I 'd stay ashore. . . . What if I 

*' Sta)/- ashore — or what ? " 

"Yacht and ranch and live on 'the old 
man,' and — get behind mama when there 's 
trouble," said Harvey, with a twinkle in his 

" Why, in that case, you come right in with 
me, my son." 

** Ten dollars a month ? " Another twinkle. 

" Not a cent more until you 're worth it, 
and you won't begin to touch that for a few 

*' I 'd sooner begin sweeping out the office 
— is n't that how the big bugs start? — and 
touch something now than — " 

"I know it; we all feel that way. But I 


guess we can hire any sweeping we need. I 
made the same mistake myself of starting in 
too soon." 

"Thirty million dollars' worth o' mistake, 
was n't it ? I 'd risk it for that." 

'* I lost some ; and I gained some. I '11 
tell you." 

Cheyne pulled his beard and smiled as he 
looked over the still water, and spoke away 
from Harvey, who presently began to be 
aware that his father was telling the story of 
his life. He talked in a low, even voice, 
without gesture and without expression ; and 
it was a history for which a dozen leading 
journals would cheerfully have paid many 
dollars — the story of forty years that was 
at the same time the story of the New West, 
whose story is yet to be written. 

It began with a kinless boy turned loose in 
Texas, and went on fantastically through a 
hundred changes and chops of life, the scenes 
shifting from State after Western State, from 
cities that sprang up in a month and in a 
season utterly withered away, to wild ven- 
tures in wilder camps that are now laborious, 
paved municipalities. It covered the building 
of three railroads and the deliberate wreck of 


a fourth. It told of steamers, townships, for- 
ests, and mines, and the men of every nation 
under heaven, manning, creating, hewing, and 
digging these. It touched on chances of gi- 
gantic wealth flung before eyes that could 
not see, or missed by the merest accident of 
time and travel ; and through the mad shift 
of things, sometimes on horseback, more of- 
ten afoot, now rich, now poor, in and out, 
and back and forth, deck-hand, train-hand, 
contractor, boarding-house keeper, journalist, 
engineer, drummer, real-estate agent, politi- 
cian, dead-beat, rum-seller, mine-owner, spec- 
ulator, cattle-man, or tramp, moved Harvey 
Cheyne, alert and quiet, seeking his own 
ends, and, so he said, the glory and advance- 
ment of his country. 

He told of the faith that never deserted 
him even when he hung on the ragged edge 
of despair — the faith that comes of knowing 
men and things. He enlarged, as though he 
were talking to himself, on his very great 
courage and resource at all times. The 
thing was so evident in the man's mind that 
he never even changed his tone. He de- 
scribed how he had bested his enemies, or 
forgiven them, exactly as they had bested or 


forgiven him in those careless days ; how he 
had entreated, cajoled, and bullied towns, 
companies, and syndicates, all for their endur- 
ing good; crawled round, through, or under 
mountains and ravines, dragging a string and 
hoop-iron railroad after him, and in the end, 
how he had sat still while promiscuous com- 
munities tore the last fragments of his char- 
acter to shreds. 

The tale held Harvey almost breathless, 
his head a little cocked to one side, his eyes 
fixed on his father's face, as the twilight 
deepened and the red cigar-end lit up the 
furrowed cheeks and heavy eyebrows. It 
seemed to him like watching a locomotive 
storming across country in the dark — a mile 
between each glare of the opened fire-door : 
but this locomotive could talk, and the words 
shook and stirred the boy to the core of his 
soul. At last Cheyne pitched away the cigar- 
butt, and the two sat in the dark over the 
lapping water. 

" I Ve never told that to any one before," 
said the father. 

Harvey gasped. ** It 's just the greatest 
thing that ever was ! " said he. 

•* That 's what I got. Now I 'm coming to 


what I did n't get. It won't sound much of 
anything to you, but I don't wish you to be 
as old as I am before you find out. I can 
handle men, of course, and I 'm no fool along 
my own lines, but — but — I can't compete 
with the man who has been taught! I 've 
picked up as I went along, and I guess it 
sticks out all over me." 

"I 've never seen it," said the son, indig- 

"You will, though, Harve. You will — just 
as soon as you 're through college. Don't I 
know it? Don't I know the look on men's 
faces when they think me a — a 'mucker,' as 
they call it out here ? I can break them to 
little pieces — yes — but I can't get back at 
'em to hurt 'em where they live. I don't say 
they 're 'way 'way up, but I feel I 'm 'way, 
'way, 'way off, somehow. Now yoit 've got 
your chance. You 've got to soak up all the 
learning that 's around, and you '11 live with 
a crowd that are doing the same thing. 
They '11 be doing it for a few thousand dol- 
lars a year at most ; but remember you 'II 
be doing it for millions. You '11 learn law 
enough to look after your own property 
when I 'm out o' the light, and you '11 have 


to be solid with the best men in the market 
(they are useful later) ; and above all, you '11 
have to stow away the plain, common, sit- 
down-with-your-chin-on-your-elbows book- 
learning. Nothing pays like that, Harve, 
and it *s bound to pay more and more each 
year in our country — in business and in pol- 
itics. You '11 see." 

" There *s no sugar my end of the deal," 
said Harvey. " Four years at college 1 'Wish 
I 'd chosen the valet and the yacht ! " 

" Never mind, my son," Cheyne insisted. 
"You *re investing your capital where it '11 
bring in the best returns; and I guess you 
won't find our property shrunk any when 
you *re ready to take hold. Think it over, 
and let me know in the morning. Hurry! 
We *11 be late for supper ! " 

As this was a business talk, there was no 
need for Harvey to tell his mother about it; 
and Cheyne naturally took the same point of 
view. But Mrs. Cheyne saw and feared, and 
was a little jealous. Her boy, who rode 
rough -shod over her, was gone, and in his 
stead reigned a keen-faced youth, abnormally 
silent, who addressed most of his conversa- 
tion to his father. She understood it was 


business, and therefore a matter beyond her 
premises. If she had any doubts, they were 
resolved when Cheyne went to Boston and 
brought back a new diamond marquise-ring. 

** What have you two men been doing 
now ? " she said, with a weak little smile, as 
she turned it in the light. 

"Talking — just talking, mama; there *s 
nothing mean about Harvey." 

There was not. The boy had made a treaty 
on his own account. Railroads, he explained 
gravely, interested him as little as lumber, 
real estate, or mining. What his soul yearned 
after was control of his father's newly pur- 
chased sailing-ships. If that could be prom- 
ised him within what he conceived to be a 
reasonable time, he, for his part, guaranteed 
diligence and sobriety at college for four or 
five years. In vacation he was to be allowed 
full access to all details connected with the 
line — he had asked not more than two thou- 
sand questions about it, — from his father's 
most private papers in the safe to the tug in 
San Francisco harbor. 

** It 's a deal," said Cheyne at the last. 
"You '11 alter your mind twenty times before 
you leave college, o* course; but if you take 


hold of it in proper shape, and if you don't 
tie it up before you 're twenty-three, I '11 
make the thing over to you. How 's that, 

"Nope; never pays to split up a going 
concern. There 's too much competition in 
the world anyway, and Disko says ' blood-kin 
hev to stick together.' His crowd never go 
back on him. That 's one reason, he says, 
why they make such big fares. Say, the 
We 'r^ Here goes off to the Georges on Mon- 
day. They don't stay long ashore, do they?" 

*' Well, we ought to be going, too, I guess. 
I 've left my business hung up at loose ends 
between two oceans, and It 's time to connect 
again. I just hate to do it, though ; have n't 
had a holiday like this for twenty years." 

*' We cant go without seeing Disko off," 
said Harvey ; " and Monday 's Memorial Day. 
Let 's stay over that, anyway." 

"What is this memorial business? They 
were talking about it at the boarding-house," 
said Cheyne, weakly. He, too, was not anx- 
ious to spoil the golden days. 

** Well, as far as I can make out, this busi- 
ness is a sort of song-and-dance act, whacked 
up for the summer boarders. Disko don't 


think much of it, he says, because they take 
up a collection for the widows and orphans. 
Disko 's independent. Have n't you noticed 

"Well — yes. A little. In spots. Is it a 
town show, then ? " 

"The summer convention is. They read 
out the names of the fellows drowned or gone 
astray since last time, and they make speeches, 
and recite, and all. Then, Disko says, the sec- 
retaries of the Aid Societies go into the back- 
yard and fight over the catch. The real show, 
he says, is in the spring. The ministers all 
take a hand then, and there are n't any sum- 
mer boarders around." 

" I see," said Cheyne, with the brilliant 
and perfect comprehension of one born into 
and bred up to city pride. ** We '11 stay 
over for Memorial Day, and get off in the 

" Guess I '11 go down to Disko's and make 
him bring his crowd up before they sail. I '11 
have to stand with them, of course." 

** Oh, that 's it, is it," said Cheyne. " I 'm 
only a poor summer boarder, and you 're — " 

'*A Banker — full-blooded Banker," Har- 
vey called back as he boarded a trolley, and 


Cheyne went on with his bhssful dreams for 
the future. 

Disko had no use for public functions where 
appeals were made for charity, but Harvey 
pleaded that the glory of the day would be 
lost, so far as he was concerned, if the We 're 
Hercs absented themselves. Then Disko 
made conditions. He had heard — it was 
astonishing how all the world knew all the 
world's business along the water-front — he 
had heard that a " Philadelphia actress- 
woman " was going to take part in the ex- 
ercises ; and he mistrusted that she would 
deliver "Skipper Ireson's Ride." Person- 
ally, he had as little use for actresses as for 
summer boarders ; but justice was justice, and 
though he himself (here Dan giggled) had 
once slipped up on a matter of judgment, 
this thing must not be So Harvey came 
back to East Gloucester, and spent half a 
day explaining to an amused actress with a 
royal reputation on two seaboards the inward- 
ness of the mistake she contemplated ; and 
she admitted that it was justice, even as Disko 
had said. 

Cheyne knew by old experience what would 
happen ; but anything of the nature of a pub- 


lie palaver was meat and drink to the man's 
soul. He saw the trolleys hurrying west, in 
the hot, hazy morning, full of women in light 
summer dresses, and white-faced straw-hatted 
men fresh from Boston desks ; the stack of 
bicycles outside the post-office ; the come- 
and-go of busy officials, greeting one another ; 
the slow flick and swash of bunting in the 
heavy air; and the important man with a hose 
sluicing the brick sidewalk. 

"Mother," he said suddenly, "don't you 
remember — after Seattle was burned out — 
and they got her going again ? " 

Mrs. Cheyne nodded, and looked critically 
down the crooked street. Like her husband, 
she understood these gatherings, all the West 
over, and compared them one against another. 
The fishermen began to mingle with the 
crowd about the town-hall doors — blue- 
jowled Portuguese, their women bare-headed 
or shawled for the most part ; clear-eyed Nova 
Scotians, and men of the Maritime Provinces; 
French, Italians, Swedes, and Danes, with 
outside crews of coasting schooners ; and 
everywhere women in black, who saluted one 
another with a gloomy pride, for this was 
their day of great days. And there were 


ministers of many creeds, — pastors of great, 
gilt-edged congregations, at the seaside for 
a rest, with shepherds of the regular work, — 
from the priests of the Church on the Hill to 
bush-bearded ex-sailor Lutherans, hail-fellow 
with the men of a score of boats. There were 
owners of lines of schooners, large contribu- 
tors to the societies, and small men, their few 
craft pawned to the mastheads, with bankers 
and marine-insurance agents, captains of tugs 
and water-bbats, riggers, fitters, lumpers, salt- 
ers, boat-builders, and coopers, and all the 
mixed population of the water-front. 

They drifted along the line of seats made 
gay with the dresses of the summer boarders, 
and one of the town officials patrolled and 
perspired till he shone all over with pure civic 
pride. Cheyne had met him for five minutes 
a few days before, and between the two there 
was entire understandino:. 

" Well, Mr. Cheyne, and what d' you think 
of our city? — Yes, madam, you can sit any- 
where you please. — You have this kind of 
thing out West, I presume ? " 

" Yes, but we are n't as old as you." 

"That *s so, of course. You ought to have 
been at the exercises when we celebrated our 


two hundred and fiftieth birthday. I tell you, 
Mr. Cheyne, the old city did herself credit." 

" So I heard. It pays, too. What 's the 
matter with the town that it don't have a first- 
class hotel, though ? " 

'•—Right over there to the left, Pedro. 
Heaps o' room for you and your crowd. — 
Why, that 's what / tell 'em all the time, Mr. 
Cheyne. There 's big money in it, but I pre- 
sume that don't affect you any. What we 
want is — *' 

A heavy hand fell on his broadcloth shoul- 
der, and the flushed skipper of a Portland 
coal-and-ice coaster spun him half round. 
•' What in thunder do you fellows mean by 
clappin' the law on the town when all decent 
men are at sea this way? Heh? Town 's 
dry 's a bone, an' smells a sight worse sence 
I quit. 'Might ha' left us one saloon for soft 
drinks, anyway." 

*' 'Don't seem to have hindered your nour- 
ishment this morning, Carsen. I '11 go into 
the politics of it later. Sit down by the door 
and think over your arguments till I come 

" What good 's arguments to me ? In Mi- 
quelon champagne 's eighteen dollars a case, 


and — " The skipper lurched into his seat as 
an organ-prelude silenced him. 

"Our new organ," said the official proudly 
to Cheyne. " 'Cost us four thousand dollars, 
too. We '11 have to get back to high-license 
next year to pay for it. I was n't going to 
let the ministers have all the religion at their 
convention. Those are some of our orphans 
standing up to sing. My wife taught 'em. 
See you again later, Mr. Cheyne. I 'm 
wanted on the platform." 

High, clear, and true, children's voices bore 
down the last noise of those settling into their 

** O all ye Works of the Loj^d^ bless ye the 
Lord: praise hiiiiy and magnify him for ever/'* 

The women throughout the hall leaned for- 
ward to look as the reiterated cadences filled 
the air. Mrs. Cheyne, with some others, be- 
gan to breathe short; she had hardly ima- 
gined there were so many widows in the 
world; and instinctively searched for Harvey. 
He had found the We 'r^ Heres at the back 
of the audience, and was standing, as by right, 
between Dan and Disko. Uncle Salters, 
returned the night before with Penn, from 
Pamlico Sound, received him suspiciously. 


** Hain't your folk gone yet?" he grunted. 
" What are you doin' here, young feller?" 

*' O ye Seas and Floods^ bless ye the Lord: 
praise him^ and magnify him for ever! " 

" Hain't he good right ? " said Dan. " He *s 
bin there, same as the rest of us." 

•* Not in them clothes," Salters snarled. 

"Shut your head, Salters," said Disko. 
" Your bile 's gone back on you. Stay right 
where ye are, Harve." 

Then up and spoke the orator of the occa- 
sion, another pillar of the municipality, bid- 
ding the world welcome to Gloucester, and 
incidentally pointing out wherein Gloucester 
excelled the rest of the world. Then he turned 
to the sea-wealth of the city, and spoke of the 
price that must be paid for the yearly harvest. 
They would hear later the names of their lost 
dead — one hundred and seventeen of them. 
(The widows stared a little, and looked at 
one another here.) Gloucester could not boast 
any overwhelming mills or factories. Her 
sons worked for such wage as the sea gave ; 
and they all knew that neither Georges nor 
the Banks were cow-pastures. The utmost 
that folk ashore could accomplish was to help 
the widows and the orphans ; and after a few 


general remarks he took this opportunity of 
thanking-, in the name of the city, those who 
had so public-spiritedly consented to partici- 
pate in the exercises of the occasion. 

" I jest despise the beggin' pieces in it," 
growled Disko. " It don't give folk a fair 
notion of us.'* 

'• Ef folk won't be fore-handed an* put by 
when they *ve the chance," returned Salters, 
** it stands in the nature o' things they hev 
to be 'shamed. You take warnin* by that, 
young feller. Riches endureth but for a 
season, ef you scatter them araound on 
lugsuries — *' 

"But to lose everything — everything," 
said Penn. "What can you do then? Once 
I " — the watery blue eyes stared up and down, 
as looking for something to steady them — 
" once I read — in a book, I think — of a boat 
where every one was run down — except some 
one — and he said to me — " 

" Shucks ! " said Salters, cutting in. " You 
read a little less an' take more int'rust in your 
vittles, and you '11 come nearer earnin' your 
keep, Penn." 

Harvey, jammed among the fishermen, felt 
a creepy, crawly, tingling thrill that began in 


the back of his neck and ended at his boots. 
He was cold, too, though it was a stifling day. 

"'That the actress from Philadelphia?" 
said Disko Troop, scowling at the platform. 
*' You *ve fixed it about old man Ireson, hain't 
ye, Harve? Ye know why naow." 

It was not " Ireson's Ride " that the woman 
delivered, but some sort of poem about a fish- 
ing-port called Brixham and a fleet of trawl- 
ers beating in against storm by night, while 
the women made a guiding fire at the head 
of the quay with everything they could lay 
hands on. 

" They took the grandam's blanket, 
Who shivered and bade them go ; 
They took the baby's cradle, 
Who could not say them no." 

"Whew!" said Dan, peering over Long 
Jack's shoulder. " That 's great ! Must ha' 
bin expensive, though." 

" Ground-hog case," said the Galway man. 
" Badly lighted port, Danny." 

" And knew not all the while 
If they were lighting a bonfire 
Or only a funeral pile." 


The wonderful voice took hold of people 
by their heartstrings ; and when she told how 
the drenched crews were flung" ashore, living 
and dead, and they carried the bodies to 
the glare of the fires, asking : " Child, is 
this your father?" or "Wife, is this your 
man ? " you could hear hard breathing all 
over the benches. 

" And when the boats of Brixham 
Go out to face the gales, 
Think of the love that travels 
Like light upon their sails ! " 

There was very little applause when she 
finished. The women were looking for their 
handkerchiefs, and many of the men stared at 
the ceiling with shiny eyes. 

" H'm," said Salters ; "that 'u'd cost ye a 
dollar to hear at any theater — maybe two. 
Some folk, I presoom, can afford it. 'Seems 
downright waste to me. . . . Naow, how in 
Jerusalem did Cap Bart Edwardes strike 
adrift here ? " 

** No keepin' him under," said an Eastport 
man behind. " He 's a poet, an' he 's baound 
to say his piece. 'Comes from daown aour 
way, too." 


He did not say that Captain B. Edwardes 
had striven for five consecutive years to be 
allowed to recite a piece of his own com- 
position on Gloucester Memorial Day. An 
amused and exhausted committee had at last 
given him his desire. The simplicity and ut- 
ter happiness of the old man, as he stood up 
in his very best Sunday clothes, won the au- 
dience ere he opened his mouth. They sat un- 
murmuring through seven-and-thirty hatchet- 
made verses describing at fullest length the 
loss of the schooner Joari Hasken off the 
Georges in the gale of 1867, and when he 
came to an end they shouted with one kindly 

A far-sighted Boston reporter slid away 
for a full copy of the epic and an interview 
with the author; so that earth had noth- 
ing more to offer Captain Bart Edwardes, 
ex-whaler, shipwright, master-fisherman, and 
poet, in the seventy-third year of his age. 

" Naow, I call that sensible," said the East- 
port man. **I 've bin over that graound with 
his writin', jest as he read it, in my two hands, 
and I can testify that he 's got it all in." 

*' If Dan here could n't do better 'n that 
with one hand before breakfast, he ought to be 


switched," said Salters, upholding the honor 
of Massachusetts on general principles, " Not 
but what I 'm free to own he 's considerable 
littery — fer Maine. Still — " 

'* Guess Uncle Salters goin' to die this trip. 
Fust compliment he 's ever paid me," Dan 
sniggered, " What 's wrong with you, Harve? 
You act all quiet and you look greenish. 
Feelin' sick ? " 

" Don't know what 's the matter with me," 
Harvey replied. " 'Seems if my insides were 
too big for my outsides, I 'm all crowded up 
and shivery." 

"Dispepsy? Pshaw — too bad. We '11 
wait for the readin', an' then we '11 quit, an' 
catch the tide," 

The widows — they were nearly all of 
that season's making — braced themselves 
rigidly like people going to be shot in cold 
blood, for they knew what was coming. The 
summer-boarder girls in pink and blue shirt- 
waists stopped tittering over Captain Ed- 
wardes's wonderful poem, and looked back to 
see why all was silent. The fishermen pressed 
forward as that town official who had talked 
with Cheyne bobbed up on the platform and 
began to read the year's list of losses, dividing 


them into months. Last September's casual- 
ties were mostly single men and strangers, 
but his voice rang very loud in the stillness 
of the hall. 

•* September 9th. — Schooner Florrie Anderson lost, with 
all aboard, off the Georges. 

" Reuben Pitman, master, 50, single. Main Street, City. 

"Emil Olsen, 19, single, 329 Hammond Street, City- 

"Oscar Stanberg, single, 25, Sweden. 

" Carl Stanberg, single, 28, Main Street, City. 

" Pedro, supposed Madeira, single, Keene's boarding- 
house, City. 

"Joseph Welsh, alias Joseph Wright, 30, St. John's, 

" No — Augusty, Maine," a voice cried from 
the body of the hall. 

" He shipped from St. John's," said the 
reader, looking to see. 

" I know it. He belongs in Augusty. 
My nevvy." 

The reader made a penciled correction on 
the margin of the list, and resumed : 

"Same schooner, Charlie Ritchie, Liverpool, Nova 
Scotia, 33, single. 

"Albert May, 267 Rogers Street, City, 27, single. 


"September 27th. — Orvin DoUard, 30, married, drowned 
in dory off Eastern Point." 

That shot went home, for one of the widows 
flinched where she sat, clasping and unclasp- 
ing her hands. Mrs. Cheyne, who had been 
listening with wide-opened eyes, threw up her 
head and choked. Dan's mother, a few seats 
to the right, saw and heard and quickly moved 
to her side. The reading went on. By the 
time they reached the January and February 
wrecks the shots were falling thick and fast, 
and the widows drew breath between their 

" February 14th. — Schooner Harry Randolph dismasted 
on the way home from Newfoundland ; Asa Musie, mar- 
ried, 32, Main Street, City, lost overboard. 

"February 23d. — Schooner Gilbert Hope ; went astray 
in dory, Robert Beavon, 29, married, native of Pubnico, 
Nova Scotia." 

But his wife was in the hall. They heard 
a low cry, as though a little animal had been 
hit. It was stifled at once, and a girl stag- 
gered out of the hall. She had been hoping 
against hope for months, because some who 
have gone adrift in dories have been miracu- 
lously picked up by deep-sea sailing-ships. 


Now she had her certainty, and Harvey could 
see the policeman on the sidewalk hailing a 
hack for her. " It 's fifty cents to the depot" — 
the driver began, but the policeman held 
up his hand — " but I 'm goin' there anyway. 
Jump right in. Look at here, Alf ; you don't 
pull me next time my lamps ain't lit. See ? " 
The side-door closed on the patch of bright 
sunshine, and Harvey's eyes turned again to 
the reader and his endless list. 

"April 19th. — Schooner Mamie Douglas lost on the 
Banks with all hands. 

" Edward Canton, 43, master, married, City. 

" D. Hawkins, alias Williams, 34, married, Shelbourne, 
Nova Scotia. 

" G. W. Clay, colored, 28, married. City." 

And SO on, and so on. Great lumps were 
rising in Harvey's throat, and his stomach 
reminded him of the day when he fell from 
the liner. 

" May loth. — Schooner We V<f Here [the blood tingled 
all over him]. Otto Svendson, 20, single, City, lost over- 

Once more a low, tearing cry from some- 
where at the back of the hall. 


" She should n't ha' come. She should n't 
ha' come," said Long Jack, with a cluck of 

** Don't scrowge, Harve," grunted Dan. 
Harvey heard that much, but the rest was 
all darkness spotted with fiery wheels. Disko 
leaned forward and spoke to his wife, where 
she sat with one arm round Mrs. Cheyne, and 
the other holding down the snatching, catch- 
ing, ringed hands. 

*' Lean your head daown — right daown ! " 
she whispered. " It '11 go off in a minute." 

"I ca-an't! I do-don't! Oh, let me — " 
Mrs. Cheyne did not at all know what she 

" You must," Mrs. Troop repeated. "Your 
boy 's jest fainted dead away. They do that 
some when they 're gettin' their growth. 'Wish 
to tend to him? We can git aout this side. 
Quite quiet. You come right along with me. 
Psha*, my dear, we 're both women, I guess. 
We must tend to aour men-folk. Come ! " 

The We We Heres promptly went through 
the crowd as a body-guard, and it was a very 
white and shaken Harvey that they propped 
up on a bench in an anteroom. 

" Favors his ma," was Mrs. Troop's only 



comment, as the mother bent over her 

" How d' you suppose he could ever stand 
it? " she cried indignantly to Cheyne, who had 
said nothing at all. " It was horrible — hor- 
rible ! We should n't have come. It 's wrong 
and wicked! It — it is n't right! Why — 
why could n't they put these things in the 
papers, where they belong ? Are you better, 
darling? " 

That made Harvey very properly ashamed. 
" Oh, I 'm all right, I guess," he said, strug- 
gling to his feet, with a broken giggle. " Must 
ha' been something I ate for breakfast." 

" Coffee, perhaps," said Cheyne, whose face 
was all in hard lines, as though it had been 
cut out of bronze. " We won't go back again.'* 

** Guess 't would be 'baout 's well to git 
daown to the wharf," said Disko. " It 's close 
in along with them Dagoes, an' the fresh air 
will fresh Mrs. Cheyne up." 

Harvey announced that he never felt better 
in his life ; but it was not till he saw the 
We 're Here, fresh from the lumper's hands, 
at Wouverman's wharf, that he lost his all- 
overish feelings in a queer mixture of pride 
and sorrowfulness. Other people — summer 


boarders and such-like — played about in cat- 
boats or looked at the sea from pier-heads ; 
but he understood things from the inside — 
more things than he could begin to think 
about. None the less, he could have sat 
down and howled because the little schooner 
was going off. Mrs. Cheyne simply cried and 
cried every step of the way, and said most 
extraordinary things to Mrs. Troop, who 
"babied" her till Dan, who had not been 
" babied " since he was six, whistled aloud. 

And so the old crowd — Harvey felt like the 
most ancient of mariners — dropped into the 
old schooner among the battered dories, while 
Harvey slipped the stern-fast from the pier- 
head, and they slid her along the wharf-side 
with their hands. Every one wanted to say so 
much that no one said anything in particular. 
Harvey bade Dan take care of Uncle Salters's 
sea-boots and Penn's dory-anchor, and Long 
Jack entreated Harvey to remember his les- 
sons in seamanship ; but the jokes fell flat in 
the presence of the two women, and it is hard 
to be funny with green harbor-water widening 
between good friends. 

" Up jib and fores'l ! " shouted Disko, get- 
ting to the wheel, as the wind took her. " 'See 



you later, Harve. Dunno but I come near 
thinkin* a heap o' you an' your folks." 

Then she glided beyond ear-shot, and they 
sat down to watch her up the harbor. And 
still Mrs. Cheyne wept. 

** Psha*, my dear," said Mrs. Troop ; ** we 're 
both women, I guess. Like 's not it '11 ease 
your heart to hev your cry aout. God He 
knows it never done me a mite o' good ; but 
then He knows I Ve had something to cry 

Now it was a few years later, and upon the 
other edge of America, that a young man 
came through the clammy sea-fog up a windy 
street which is flanked with most expensive 
houses built of wood to imitate stone. To 
him, as he was standing by a hammered iron 
gate, entered on horseback — and the horse 
would have been cheap at a thousand dollars 
— another young man. And this is what 
they said : 

"Hello, Dan!" 

"Hello, Harve!" 

" What 's the best with you ? " 

*' Well, I 'm so 's to be that kind o* animal 
called second mate this trip. Ain't you most 


through with that triple-invoiced college o* 
yours : 

" Getting that way. I tell you, the Leland 
Stanford Junior, is n't a circumstance to the 
old tVe We Here ; but I 'm coming into the 
business for keeps next fall." 

" Meanin' aour packets?" 

•' Nothing else. You just wait till I get my 
knife into you, Dan. I 'm going to make the 
old line lie down and cry when I take hold." 

** I '11 resk it," said Dan, with a brotherly 
grin, as Harvey dismounted and asked whether 
he were coming in. 

" That 's what I took the cable fer ; but, say, 
is the doctor anywheres araound ? I '11 draown 
that crazy nigger some day, his one cussed joke 
an' all." 

There was a low, triumphant chuckle, as the 
ex-cook of the We 're Here came out of the 
fog to take the horse's bridle. He allowed 
no one but himself to attend to any of Harvey's 

"Thick as the Banks, ain't it, doctor? "said 
Dan, propitiatingly. 

But the coal-black Celt with the second- 
sight did not see fit to reply till he had tapped 
Dan on the shoulder, and for the twentieth 


time croaked the old, old prophecy in his 

"Master — man. Man — master," said he. 
" You remember, Dan Troop, what I said ? 
On the We're Here?'' 

" Well, I won't go so far as to deny that it 
do look like it as things stand at present," said 
Dan. " She was an able packet, and one way 
an' another I owe her a heap — her and dad." 

•■* Me too," quoth Harvey Cheyne 



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