“‘Botch,’ says I, when we was off Mother Burke, ‘how is you, b’y?’
“‘Oh, farin’ along,’ says he.
“‘Ay,’ says I; ‘but how is you, b’y?’
“‘Farin’ along,’ says he.
“‘It ain’t a answer,’ says I. ‘I’m askin’ a plain question, Botch.’
“‘Well, Tumm,’ says he, ‘the fac’ is, Tumm, I’m—sort o’—jus’—farin’ along.’
“We crossed the Straits of a moonlight night. The wind was fair an’ light. Mad Bill was t’ the wheel: for he ’lowed he wasn’t goin’ t’ have no chances took with a Lally Line steamer, havin’ been sunk oncet by the same. ’Twas a kind an’ peaceful night. I’ve never knowed the world t’ be more t’ rest an’ kinder t’ the sons o’ men. The wind was from the s’uth’ard, a point or two east: a soft wind an’ sort o’ dawdlin’ careless an’ happy toward the Labrador. The sea was sound asleep; an’ the schooner cuddled up, an’ dreamed, an’ snored, an’ sighed, an’ rolled along, as easy as a ship could be. Moonlight was over all the world—so soft an’ sweet an’ playful an’ white; it said, ‘Hush!’ an’, ‘Go t’ sleep!’ All the stars that ever shone was wide awake an’ winkin’. A playful crew—them little stars! Wink! wink! ‘Go t’sleep!’ says they. ‘’Tis our watch,’ says they. ‘We’ll take care o’ you.’ An’ t’ win’ward—far off—black an’ low—was Cape Norman o’ Newf’un’land. Newf’un’land! Ah, we’re all mad with love o’ she! Good-night!’ says she. ‘Fair v’y’ge,’ says she; ‘an’ may you come home loaded!’ Sleep? Ay; men could sleep that night. They wasn’t no fear at sea. Sleep? Ay; they wasn’t no fear in all the moonlit world.
“An’ then up from the forecastle comes Botch o’ Jug Cove.
“‘Tumm,’ says he, ‘you isn’t turned in.’
“‘No, Botch,’ says I. ‘It isn’t my watch; but I ’lowed I’d lie here on this cod-trap an’ wink back at the stars.’