"No; what about her?"
"I had a brother on her," said this man. "She was hove down and her whole crew washed over—hove flat down and the whole crew of eight men in the water at once. Six of 'em got back—first one and then another, the first of those back aboard heavin' lines to the others still overboard. Two men never came back, though—pretty rough it was."
On his own vessel, the Thunderbolt, it was pretty rough sailing, and in the middle of it there was one of the crew—he'd never been off-shore fishing in his life before this—he came on deck with a life-preserver around him. "Seas to our masthead," said the man off the Thunderbolt, "and he comes on deck with a life-preserver. He must 'a' thought he was bein' wrecked in some swimmin'-pool in some Turkish bath 'stead of old South Shoal in a gale. If ever he'd got two feet from the deck of that vessel, he'd lasted 'bout two seconds—him and his life-preserver!"
Tony, the barber, was so interested in the man with the life-preserver that he gave me a fine cut on my right cheek.
John and the skipper and Steve and the cook were buried that same day in Gloucester, and we all went to the funeral; and coming away from the funeral: "You goin' back fishin'?" said Shorty to me.
"No more fishin' for me," I said. And Shorty and Oliver, they both said never again for them, either.
That was day before yesterday. This morning the master of the Antoinette came along with Shorty and Oliver and asked me didn't I want to make just one more swordfishing trip while the season was on.
I looked at Shorty. He was wearing a smile and had a rose on his coat some girl had given him. "I thought you said you were through fishing, Shorty?"
"So I did," said Shorty, "but a man says a lot o' things in his careless hours. I've had a couple o' good nights' sleep since."
"And you, Oliver?" I said.