It was almost into the door-yard of Cap'n 'Siah Doane's weather-beaten cottage at the Point that he had been carried by a discriminating wave; and with a dislocated shoulder, and a wound on the head which, as Cap'n 'Siah declared, would have killed anything but a "pesky little Portergee," he staid.
There were summer visitors to Tooraloo, and he had done errands for them, and shared young Josiah's jobs of fishing and clamming for the boarding-houses, and generally been "worth his keep," as Cap'n 'Siah carefully figured out, being a thrifty and prudent soul. In fact, Tooraloo people generally thought that Cap'n 'Siah would have been better off if he had been less prudent and cautious. He wouldn't take the least risk for fear of losing; he would scarcely go fishing with a fair wind lest it should become a foul one before he came back, and he wouldn't raise cranberries lest the market should be over-supplied when he came to sell.
"Now God made things chancy to develop folks, and he made 'em chancier than common on Cape Cod," Uncle Saul Nickerson, of Tooraloo, was always saying as a hint to Cap'n 'Siah. And little Israel had heard so much about his grandfather's bump of caution that he thought it must mean the wen on the top of his bald head.
In the winter there were no jobs in Tooraloo. Manuel had talked of going to Kingstown, where there were many of his race, to try to get a chance to sail with a Portuguese captain; but they had all protested earnestly against his leaving, and little Israel had raised a mighty wail. Manuel said he never had struck a home port before, and it was evident that he longed with all his heart to stay. But with a hard winter before them Cap'n 'Siah's bump of caution had got into working order, and he had made the dreadful announcement with which this story begins.
They all looked at each other in consternation; and even Caddy, who had grown very sensible by having to look out for them all, felt a rush of tears to her eyes.
At that very moment the little "Portergee" was digging his heels into the sand—which he did when he had on his thinking-cap as naturally as a Yankee boy whistles—and saying to himself that he should immediately go away, it was so dull, if he didn't feel as if he must stay and take care of these people who had been so kind to him. He meditatively tapped the top of his own thickly thatched head where the wen was on the Cap'n's, and shook his head with sad significance. He, like little Israel, thought that wen was the bump of caution which kept Cap'n 'Siah from everything that was enterprising.
"If I do not stay and take care of them they are los'!" said the little "Portergee" to himself.
But how? For a brave and enterprising spirit what opportunities had Tooraloo? There was a shadow of discouragement upon even Manuel's stout heart; but just then Hiram Tinker called to him from the dory in which he was putting in to shore.
"Seen the herrin'? Kingstown Harbor is chockfull of 'em! Greatest sight anybody ever see! All the traps and seines and nets are full a'ready, and they're gettin' the cold-storage plants ready to take 'em in. Seems as if all the herrin' in creation had drifted into Kingstown Harbor!"
Manuel didn't hear the last words; he was running around to the cove where Michael Fretas lived. Michael was Portuguese. He owned a small fishing-boat, and Manuel had helped him to paint and letter her in the summer. Manuel could paint straight letters—that is, nearly straight. Michael's daughter, who taught school farther up the cape, had wished to name the vessel the Daylight; but Manuel's spelling of English was a little uncertain, and he made her the Delight instead. And Michael said he would not have it changed because Manuel was his friend and countryman.