Chapter 2

by Rudyard Kipling

　　"I warned ye," said Dan, as the drops fell thick and fast on thedark, oiled planking. "Dad ain't noways hasty, but you fair earnedit. Pshaw! there's no sense takin' on so." Harvey's shoulders wererising and falling in spasms of dry sobbing. "I know the feelin'.First time dad laid me out was the last - and that was my firsttrip. Makes ye feel sickish an' lonesome. I know.""It does," moaned Harvey. "That man's either crazy or drunk, and -and I can't do anything.""Don't say that to dad," whispered Dan. "He's set ag'in' allliquor, an' - well, he told me you was the madman. What increation made you call him a thief? He's my dad."Harvey sat up, mopped his nose, and told the story of the missingwad of bills. "I'm not crazy," he wound up. "Only - your fatherhas never seen more than a five-dollar bill at a time, and myfather could buy up this boat once a week and never miss it.""You don't know what the "We're Here's" worth. Your dad must hey apile o' money. How did he git it? Dad sez loonies can't shake outa straight yarn. Go ahead.""In gold-mines and things, West.""I've read o' that kind o' business. OutWest, too? Does he go around with a pistol on a trick-pony, sameez the circus? They call that the Wild West, and I've heard thattheir spurs an' bridles was solid silver.""You are a chump!" said Harvey, amused in spite of himself. "Myfather hasn't any use for ponies. When he wants to ride he takeshis car.""Haow? Lobster-car?""No. His own private car, of course. You've seen a private carsome time in your life?""Slatin Beeman he hez one," said Dan, cautiously. "I saw her atthe 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'sbought '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'crocodiles an' such all. Slatin Beeman he's a millionaire. I'veseen his car. Yes?""Well, my father's what they call a multi-millionaire; and he hastwo private cars. One's named for me, the 'Harvey,' and one for mymother, the 'Constance.'""Hold on," said Dan. "Dad don't ever let me swear, but I guess youcan. 'Fore we go ahead, I want you to say hope you may die ifyou'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'vespoken isn't the cold truth.""Hundred an' thirty-four dollars an' all?" said Dan. "I heard yetalkin' to dad, an' I ha'af looked you'd be swallered up, same'sJonah."Harvey protested himself red in the face. Dan was a shrewd youngperson along his own lines, and ten minutes' questioning convincedhim that Harvey was not lying - much. Besides, he had boundhimself by the most terrible oath known to boyhood, and yet hesat, alive, with a red-ended nose, in the scuppers, recountingmarvels upon marvels."Gosh!" said Dan at last, from the very bottom of his soul, whenHarvey had completed an inventory of the car named in his honour.Then a grin of mischievous delight overspread his broad face. "Ibelieve you, Harvey. Dad's made a mistake fer once in his life.""He has, sure," said Harvey, who was meditating an early revenge."He'll be mad clear through. Dad jest hates to be mistook in hisjedgments." Dan lay back and slapped his thigh. "Oh, Harvey, don'tyou spile the catch by lettin' on.""I don't want to be knocked down again. I'll get even with him,though.""Never heard any man ever got even with dad. But he'd knock yedown again sure. The more he was mistook the more he'd do it. Butgold-mines and pistols -""I never said a word about pistols," Harvey cut in, for he was onhis oath."Thet's so; no more you did. Two private cars, then, one named feryou 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'afa month! It's the top haul o' the season." He exploded withnoiseless chuckles."Then I was right? "said Harvey, who thought he had found asympathiser."You was wrong; the wrongest kind o' wrong! You take right holdan' pitch in 'longside o' me, or you'll catch it, an' I'll catchit fer backin' you up. Dad always gives me double helps 'cause I'mhis son, an' he hates favourin' folk. 'Guess you're kinder mad atdad. I've been that way time an' again. But dad's a mighty jestman; all the fleet says so.""Looks like justice, this, don't it?" Harvey pointed to hisoutraged nose."Thet's nothin'. Lets the shore blood outer you. Dad did it foryer health. Say, though, I can't have dealin's with a man thatthinks me or dad or any one on the "We're Here's" a thief. Weain't any common wharf-end crowd by any manner o' means. We'refishermen, an' we've shipped together for six years an' more.Don't you make any mistake on that! I told ye dad don't let meswear. He calls 'em vain oaths, and pounds me; but ef I could saywhat you said 'baout your pap an' his fixin's, I'd say that 'baoutyour dollars. I dunno what was in your pockets when I dried yourkit, fer I didn't look to see; but I'd say, using the very samewords ez you used jest now, neither me nor dad - an' we was theonly two that teched you after you was brought aboard - knowsanythin' 'baout the money. Thet's my say. Naow?"The bloodletting had certainly cleared Harvey's brain, and maybethe loneliness of the sea had something to do with it. "That's allright," he said. Then he looked down confusedly. "'Seems to methat for a fellow just saved from drowning I haven't been over andabove grateful, Dan.""Well, you was shook up and silly," said Dan. "Anyway, there wasonly dad an' me aboard to see it. The cook he don't count.""I might have thought about losing the bills that way," Harveysaid, half to himself, "instead of calling everybody in sight athief Where's your father?""In the cabin What d'you want o' him again?""You'll see," said Harvey, and he stepped, rather groggily, forhis head was still singing, to the cabin steps, where the littleship's clock hung in plain sight of the wheel. Troop, in thechocolate-and-yellow painted cabin, was busy with a note-book andan enormous black pencil, which he sucked hard from time to time"I haven't acted quite right," said Harvey, surprised at his ownmeekness."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, veryquickly. "When a man's saved from drowning -" he gulped."Ey? You'll make a man yet ef you go on this way.""He oughtn't begin by calling people names.""Jest an' right - right an' jest," said Troop, with the ghost of adry smile."So I'm here to say I'm sorry." Another big gulp. Troop heavedhimself slowly off the locker he was sitting on and held out aneleven-inch hand. "I mistrusted 'twould do you sights o' good; an'this shows I weren't mistook in my jedgments." A smothered chuckleon deck caught his ear. "I am very seldom mistook in myjedgments." The eleven-inch hand closed on Harvey's, numbing it tothe elbow. "We'll put a little more gristle to that 'fore we'vedone with you, young feller; an' I don't think any worse of ye feranythin' thet's gone by. You wasn't fairly responsible. Go rightabaout your business an' you won't take no hurt.""You're white," said Dan, as Harvey regained the deck, flushed tothe tips of his ears."I don't feel it," said he."I didn't mean that way. I heard what dad said. When dad allows hedon't think the worse of any man, dad's give himself away. Hehates to be mistook in his jedgments, too. Ho! ho! Onct dad has ajedgment, he'd sooner dip his colours to the British than changeit. I'm glad it's settled right eend up. Dad's right when he sayshe can't take you back. It's all the livin' we make here -fishin'. The men'll be back like sharks after a dead whale inha'af an hour.""What for?" said Harvey."Supper, o' course. Don't your stummick tell you? You've a heap tolearn.""'Guess I have," said Harvey, dolefully, looking at the tangle ofropes and blocks overhead."She's a daisy," said Dan, enthusiastically, misunderstanding thelook. "Wait till our mainsail's bent, an' she walks home with allher salt wet. There's some work first, though." He pointed downinto the darkness of the open main-hatch between the two masts."What's that for? It's all empty," said Harvey."You an' me an' a few more hev got to fill it," said Dan. "That'swhere the fish goes.""Alive?" said Harvey."Well, no. They're so's to be ruther dead - an' flat - an' salt.There's a hundred hogshead o' salt in the bins; an' we hain'tmore'n covered our dunnage to now.""Where are the fish, though?""'In the sea, they say; in the boats, we pray,'" said Dan, quotinga fisherman's proverb. "You come in last night with 'baout fortyof 'em."He pointed to a sort of wooden pen just in front of the quarter-deck."You an' me we'll sluice that out when they're through. 'Sendwe'll hev full pens to-night! I've seen her down ha'af a foot withfish waitin' to clean, an' we stood to the tables till we wassplittin' ourselves instid o' them, we was so sleepy. Yes, they'recomin' in naow." Dan looked over the low bulwarks at half a dozendories rowing towards them over the shining, silky sea."I've never seen the sea from so low down," said Harvey. "It'sfine."The low sun made the water all purple and pinkish, with goldenlights on the barrels of the long swells, and blue and greenmackerel shades in the hollows. Each schooner in sight seemed tobe pulling her dories towards her by invisible strings, and thelittle black figures in the tiny boats pulled like clockwork toys."They've struck on good," said Dan, between his half-shut eyes."Manuel hain't room fer another fish. Low ez a lily-pad in stillwater, ain't he?""Which is Manuel? I don't see how you can tell 'em 'way off, asyou do.""Last boat to the south'ard. He f'und you last night," said Dan,pointing. "Manuel rows Portugoosey; ye can't mistake him. East o'him - he's a heap better'n he rows - is Pennsylvania. Loaded withsaleratus, by the looks of him. East o' him - see how pretty theystring out all along with the humpy shoulders, is Long Jack. He'sa Galway man inhabitin' South Boston, where they all live mostly,an' mostly them Galway men are good in a boat. North, away yonder- you'll hear him tune up in a minute - is Tom Platt. Man-o'-war'sman he was on the old Ohio - first of our navy, he says, to goaraound the Horn. He never talks of much else, 'cept when hesings, but be 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' full."The bellow continued:"And naow to thee, O Capting,Most earnestly I prayThat they shall never bury meIn church or cloister grey.""Double game for Tom Platt. He'll tell you all about the old Ohioto-morrow. 'See that blue dory behind him? He's my uncle, - dad'sown brother, - an' ef there's any bad luck loose on the Banksshe'll fetch up ag'in' Uncle Salters, sure. Look how tender he'srowin'. I'll lay my wage and share he's the only man stung up to-day - an' he's stung up good."-"What'll sting him?" said Harvey, getting interested."Strawberries, mostly. Punkins, sometimes, an' sometimes lemonsan' cucumbers. Yes, he's stung up from his elbows down. That man'sluck's perfectly paralysin'. Naow we'll take a-holt o' the tacklesan' h'ist 'em in. Is it true, what you told me jest now, that younever done a hand's turn o' work in all your born life? 'Must feelkinder awful, don't it?""I'm going to try to work, anyway," Harvey replied stoutly. "Onlyit's all dead new.""Lay a-holt o' that tackle, then. Behind ye!"Harvey grabbed at a rope and long iron hook dangling from one ofthe stays of the mainmast, while Dan pulled down another that ranfrom something he called a "topping-lift," as Manuel drewalongside in his loaded dory. The Portuguese smiled a brilliantsmile that Harvey learned to know well later, and a short-handledfork began to throw fish into the pen on deck. "Two hundred andthirty-one," he shouted."Give him the hook," said Dan, and Harvey ran it into Manuel'shands. He slipped it through a loop of rope at the dory's bow,caught Dan's tackle, hooked it to the stern-becket, and clamberedinto the schooner."Pull!" shouted Dan; and Harvey pulled, astonished to find howeasily the dory rose."Hold on; she don't nest in the crosstrees!" Dan laughed; andHarvey held on, for the boat lay in the air above his head."Lower away," Dan shouted; and as Harvey lowered, Dan swayed thelight boat with one hand till it landed softly just behind themainmast. "They don't weigh nothin' empty. Thet was right smartfer a passenger. There's more trick to it in a sea-way.""Ah ha!" said Manuel, holding out a brown hand. "You are somepretty 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 hisunfortunate hand stole to his pocket once more, but he rememberedthat he had no money to offer. When he knew Manuel better the merethought of the mistake he might have made would cover him withhot, uneasy blushes in his bunk."There is no to be thankful for to me!" said Manuel. "How shall Ileave you dreeft, dreeft all around the Banks? Now you are afisherman eh, wha-at? Ouh! Auh!" He bent backward and forwardstiffly 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 forthe man who had saved his life.Dan threw him a swab, and he leaned over the dory, mopping up theslime clumsily, 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 someday. Here's Long Jack."A stream of glittering fish flew into the pen from a doryalongside."Manuel, you take the tackle. I'll fix the tables. Harvey, clearManuel's boat. Long Jack's nestin' on the top of her."Harvey looked up from his swabbing at the bottom of another doryjust above his head."Jest like the Injian puzzle-boxes, ain't they?" said Dan, as theone 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 asManuel had done. Disko in the cabin growled up the hatchway, andthey 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 yourpockuts. Slate ut for a bad catch. The Portugee has bate me."Whack came another dory alongside, and more fish shot into thepen."Two hundred and three. Let's look at the passenger!" The speakerwas even larger than the Galway man, and his face was made curiousby a purple cut running slantways from his left eye to the rightcorner of his mouth.Not knowing what else to do, Harvey swabbed each dory as it camedown, pulled out the foot-boards, and laid them in the bottom ofthe boat."He's caught on good," said the scarred man, who was Tom Platt,watching him critically. "There are two ways o' doin' everything.One's fisher-fashion - any end first an' a slippery hitch over all- an' the other's -""What we did on the old Ohio!" Dan interrupted, brushing into theknot of men with a long board on legs. "Git out o' here, TomPlatt, 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 swingingblow from the man-o'-war's man."An' they did that on the Ohio, too, Danny. See?" said Tom Platt,laughing."'Guess they was swivel-eyed, then, fer it didn't git home, and Iknow who'll find his boots on the main-truck ef he don't leave usalone. Haul ahead! I'm busy, can't ye see?""Danny, ye lie on the cable an' sleep all day," said Long Jack."You're the hoight av impidence, an' I'm persuaded ye'll corruptour supercargo in a week.""His name's Harvey," said Dan, waving two strangely shaped knives,"an' he'll be worth five of any Sou' Boston clam-digger 'forelong." He laid the knives tastefully on the table, cocked his headon one side, and admired the effect."I think it's forty-two," said a small voice over-side, and therewas a roar of laughter as another voice answered, "Then my luck'sturned fer onct, 'caze I'm forty-five, though I be stung outer allshape.""Forty-two or forty-five. I've lost count," the small voice said."It's Penn an' Uncle Salters caountin' catch. This beats thecircus 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 Salters."I'll count again, then," the voice replied meekly.The two dories swung together and bunted into the schooner's side."Patience o' Jerusalem! "snapped Uncle Salters, backing water witha splash. "What possest a farmer like you to set foot in a boatbeats me. You've nigh stove me all up.""I am sorry, Mr. Salters. I came to sea on account of nervousdyspepsia. You advised 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 ag'in. 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. I'm forty-five," said UncleSalters. "You count keerful, Penn."Disko Troop came out of the cabin. "Salters, you pitch your fishin naow at once," he said in the tone of authority."Don't spile the catch, dad," Dan murmured. "Them two are on'yjest beginnin'.""Mother av delight! He's forkin' them wan by wan," howled LongJack, as Uncle Salters got to work laboriously; the little man inthe other dory counting a line of notches on the gunwale."That was last week's catch," he said, looking up plaintively, hisforefinger where he had left off.Manuel nudged Dan, who darted to the after-tackle, and, leaningfar overside, slipped the hook into the stern-rope as Manuel madeher fast forward. The others pulled gallantly and swung the boatin - man, fish, and all."One, two, four - nine," said Tom Platt, counting with a practisedeye. "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 hisown 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 Platt. "Beat by a farmer, Salters. An' yousech a sailor, too!""'Tweren't fair caount," said he, stumbling out of the pen; "an'I'm stung up all to pieces."His thick hands were puffy and mottled purply white."Some folks will find strawberry-bottom," said Dan, addressing thenewly risen moon, "ef they hev to dive fer it, seems to me.""An' others," said Uncle Salters, "eats the fat o' the land insloth, an' mocks their own blood-kin.""Seat ye! Seat ye!" a voice Harvey had not heard called from thefo'c'sle. Disko Troop, Tom Platt, Long Jack, and Salters wentforward on the word. Little Penn bent above his square deep-seareel and the tangled cod-lines; Manuel lay down full length on thedeck, and Dan dropped into the hold, where Harvey heard himbanging casks with a hammer."Salt," he said, returning. "Soon as we're through supper we gitto dressing-down. You'll pitch to dad. Tom Platt an' dad they stowtogether, an' you'll 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'll be through in a minute. Sniff! She smells good to-night.Dad ships a good cook ef he do suffer with his brother. It's afull catch today, ain't it?" He pointed at the pens piled highwith cod. "What water did ye hev, Manuel?""Twenty-fife father," said the Portuguese, sleepily. "They strikeon good an' queek. Some day I show you, Harvey."The moon was beginning to walk on the still sea before the eldermen came aft. The cook had no need to cry "second half." Dan andManuel were down the hatch and at table ere Tom Platt, last andmost deliberate of the elders, had finished wiping his mouth withthe back of his hand. Harvey followed Penn, and sat down before atin pan of cod's tongues and sounds, mixed with scraps of pork andfried potato, a loaf of hot bread, and some black and powerfulcoffee. Hungry as they were, they waited while "Pennsylvania"solemnly asked a blessing. Then they stoked in silence till Dandrew breath over his tin cup and demanded of Harvey how he felt."'Most full, but there's just room for another piece."The cook was a huge, jet-black negro, and, unlike all the negroesHarvey had met, did not talk, contenting himself with smiles anddumb-show invitations to eat more."See, Harvey," said Dan, rapping with his fork on the table, "it'sjest as I said. The young an' handsome men - like me an' Pennsyan' you an' Manuel - we 're second ha'af, an' we eats when thefirst ha'af are through. They're the old fish; and they're meanan' humpy, an' their stummicks has to be humoured; so they comefirst, 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' anything we know. His naturaltongue's kinder curious. Comes from the in'ards of Cape Breton, hedoes, where the farmers speak home-made Scotch. Cape Breton's fullo' niggers whose folk run in there durin' aour war, an' they talklike the farmers - all huffy-chuffy.""That is not Scotch," said "Pennsylvania." "That is Gaelic. So Iread in a book.""Penn reads a heap. Most of what he says is so - 'cep' when itcomes to a caount o' fish - eh?""Does your father just let them say how many they've caughtwithout 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," Manuel put in. "Lied everyday. Fife, ten, twenty-fife more fish than come he say there was.""Where was that?" said Dan. "None o' aour folk.""Frenchman of Anguille.""Ah! Them West Shore Frenchmen don't caount, anyway. Stands toreason they can't caount. Ef you run acrost any of their softhooks, Harvey, you'll 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" scrambledup 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; andthe pile of fish by the stern shone like a dump of fluid silver.In the hold there were tramplings and rumblings where Disko Troopand Tom Platt moved among the salt-bins. Dan passed Harvey apitchfork, and led him to the inboard end of the rough table,where Uncle Salters was drumming impatiently with a knife-haft. Atub of salt water lay at his feet."You pitch to dad an' Tom Platt down the hatch, an' take keerUncle Salters don't cut yer eye out," said Dan, swinging himselfinto the hold. "I'll pass salt below."Penn and Manuel stood knee-deep among cod in the pen, flourishingdrawn knives. Long Jack, a basket at his feet and mittens on hishands, faced Uncle Salters at the table, and Harvey stared at thepitchfork and the tub."Hi!" shouted Manuel, stooping to the fish, and bringing one upwith a finger under its gill and a finger in its eye. He laid iton the edge of the pen; the knife-blade glimmered with a sound oftearing, and the fish, slit from throat to vent, with a nick oneither side of the neck, dropped at Long Jack's feet."Hi!" said Long Jack, with a scoop of his mittened hand. The cod'sliver dropped in the basket. Another wrench and scoop sent thehead and offal flying, and the empty fish slid across to UncleSalters, who snorted fiercely. There was another sound of tearing,the backbone flew over the bulwarks, and the fish, headless,gutted, and open, splashed in the tub, sending the salt water intoHarvey's astonished mouth. After the first yell, the men weresilent. The cod moved along as though they were alive, and longere Harvey had ceased wondering at the miraculous dexterity of itall, his tub was full."Pitch!" grunted Uncle Salters, without turning his head, andHarvey pitched the fish by twos and threes down the hatch."Hi! Pitch 'em bunchy," shouted Dan. "Don't scatter! Uncle Saltersis the best splitter in the fleet. Watch him mind his book!"Indeed, it looked a little as though the round uncle were cuttingmagazine pages against time. Manuel's body, cramped over from thehips, stayed like a statue; but his long arms grabbed the fishwithout ceasing. Little Penn toiled valiantly, but it was easy tosee he was weak. Once or twice Manuel found time to help himwithout breaking the chain of supplies, and once Manuel howledbecause he had caught his finger in a Frenchman's hook. Thesehooks are made of soft metal, to be rebent after use; but the codvery often get away with them and are hooked again elsewhere; andthat is one of the many reasons why the Gloucester boats despisethe Frenchmen.Down below, the rasping sound of rough salt rubbed on rough fleshsounded like the whirring of a grindstone - a steady undertune tothe "click-nick" of the knives in the pen; the wrench and schloopof torn heads, dropped liver, and flying offal; the "caraaah" ofUncle Salters's knife scooping away backbones; and the flap ofwet, 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 backached with the steady pitching. But he felt for the first time inhis life that he was one of a working gang of men, took pride inthe thought, and held on sullenly."Knife oh!" shouted Uncle Salters, at last. Penn doubled up,gasping among the fish, Manuel bowed back and forth to supplehimself, and Long Jack leaned over the bulwarks. The cookappeared, noiseless as a black shadow, collected a mass ofbackbones and heads, and retreated."Blood-ends for breakfast an' head-chowder," said Long Jack,smacking his lips."Knife oh!" repeated Uncle Salters, waving the flat, curvedsplitter's weapon."Look by your foot, Harve," cried Dan, below.Harvey saw half a dozen knives stuck in a cleat in the hatchcombing. 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 waterwhich tasted like nectar, and loosed the jaws of Disko and TomPlatt."These are cod," said Disko. "They ain't Damarskus figs, TomPlatt, nor yet silver bars. I've told you that every single timesence we've sailed together.""A matter o' seven seasons," returned Tom Platt, coolly. "Goodstowin's good stowin' all the same, an' there's a right an' awrong way o' stowin' ballast even. If you'd ever seen four hundredton o' iron set into the -""Hi!" With a yell from Manuel the work began again, and neverstopped till the pen was empty. The instant the last fish wasdown, Disko Troop rolled aft to the cabin with his brother; Manueland Long Jack went forward; Tom Platt only waited long enough toslide home the hatch ere he too disappeared. In half a minuteHarvey heard deep snores in the cabin, and he was staring blanklyat Dan and Penn."I did a little better that time, Danny," said Penn, whose eyelidswere heavy with sleep. "But I think it is my duty to help clean.""'Wouldn't hev your conscience fer a thousand 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 of fish-livers, emptied them into acask with a hinged top lashed by the fo'c'sle; then he too droppedout of sight in the cabin."Boys clean up after dressin' down, an' first watch in ca'amweather is boy's watch on the43"CAPTAINS COURAGEOUS"'We're Here'." Dan sluiced the pen energetically, unshipped thetable, set it up to dry in the moonlight, ran the red knife-bladesthrough a wad of oakum, and began to sharpen them on a tinygrindstone, as Harvey threw offal and backbones overboard underhis direction.At the first splash a silvery-white ghost rose bolt upright fromthe oily water and sighed a weird whistling sigh. Harvey startedback with a shout, but Dan only laughed. "Grampus," said he."Beggin' fer fish-heads. They up-eend thet way when they'rehungry. Breath on him like the doleful tombs, hain't he?" Ahorrible stench of decayed fish filled the air as the pillar ofwhite sank, and the water bubbled oilily. "Hain't ye never seen agrampus up-eend before? You'll see 'em by hundreds 'fore ye'rethrough. Say, it's good to hev a boy aboard again. Otto was tooold, an' a Dutchy at that. Him an' me we fought consid'ble.'Wouldn't ha' keered fer thet ef he'd hed a Christian tongue inhis head. Sleepy?""Dead sleepy," said Harvey, nodding forward."'Mustn't sleep on watch. Rouse up an' see ef our anchor-light'sbright an' shinin'. You'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 liner, an'seventeen brass-bound officers, all gen'elmen, lift their hand toit 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'll lay intoyou with a rope's end."The moon, who sees many strange things on the Banks, looked downon a slim youth in knickerbockers and a red jersey, staggeringaround the cluttered decks of a seventy-ton schooner, while behindhim, waving a knotted rope, walked, after the manner of anexecutioner, a boy who yawned and nodded between the blows hedealt.The lashed wheel groaned and kicked softly, the riding-sailslatted a little in the shifts of the light wind, the windlasscreaked, and the miserable procession continued. Harveyexpostulated, threatened, whimpered, and at last wept outright,while Dan, the words clotting on his tongue, spoke of the beautyof watchfulness, and slashed away with the rope's end, punishingthe dories as often as he hit Harvey. At last the clock in thecabin struck ten, and upon the tenth stroke little Penn crept ondeck. He found two boys in two tumbled heaps side by side on themain-hatch, so deeply asleep that he actually rolled them to theirberths.