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Page 56
"Don't, Dan! We're right on top of him now. 'Wish I was safe
aboard, hem' pounded by Uncle Salters."
"They'll 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 darsen'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 drowned
a boy alongside in a drunk fit; an' ever after, that boy he'd row
along-side 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 them.
"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
promising 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 override 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 favour of Long Jack, who told the most excruciating
ghost-stories, till nearly midnight. Under that influence no one
except Salters and Penn said anything 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 grunted 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 guess I'm as enlightened 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
another.
The 'We're Here' was racing neck and neck for her last few loads
against the Parry Norman; and so close was the struggle that the
Fleet took side and betted tobacco. All hands worked at the lines
or dressing-down till they fell asleep where they stood--beginning
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're Heres'
gained. Harvey could not see how one more fish could be
crammed into her, but Disko and Tom Platt stowed and stowed, and
planked the mass down with big stones from the ballast, and there
was always "jest another 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, envying
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 accomodate folk who
had not sent in their mail, and so worked her gracefully in and out
among the schooners. In reality, 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 Platt's fiddle supplied
the music of the magic verse you must not sing till all the salt is
wet:
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