“He says that unless it moderates a bit more than it looks as if ’twill now, we’ll stay aboard in the morning.”
“Well, here’s one that ain’t sorry to hear that. I don’t mind sayin’, now that it’s all over, that hanging on to the bottom of that dory warn’t any joke to-day. I’m good and tired. ’Twas a night like this we headed the Cromwell to the west’ard. ‘Hell or Gloucester,’ says he, and hell it was for him. Good-night.”
Strategy and Seamanship
I
HARRY GLOVER, master of the Calumet, was generally admitted to be a great diplomat; he himself allowed he was a little something that way. And everybody said he must be—diplomat, strategist, or whatever it was—else how could he, a man who had never had even ordinary luck at bank fishing, induce so shrewd a man as Fred Withrow, something of a schemer too, to build him a fine vessel like the Calumet and send him to the Newfoundland coast for frozen herring on a trip wherein an owner stood to lose more money possibly, should things go wrong, than in any other venture of fishermen.
The Calumet was lying into Little Haven, Placentia Bay, when Glover, sitting in his cabin, heard a hail and an inquiry for Captain Marrs of the Lucy Foster.