THE HARBOR HAD NEVER BEEN PACKED WITH FISH LIKE THIS.
Not the half had been told about the herring. Since the world began Kingstown had never seen her harbor packed with fish like this. The waves tossed them upon the wharves into the baskets and barrels of those who had no nets, at the very feet of the vagrant Kingstown cats, who, for lack of rod and line, had been forced to haunt the fish-houses.
The herring had only just appeared, but it was estimated that when all appliances were ready a thousand barrels a day could be taken.
They worked with a will, all the little party from Tooraloo Point, even Cap'n 'Siah, although he grumbled that herring wouldn't be worth nothing, there were so many, and that the Delight would surely sink if they loaded her so heavily, and that they could never get salt enough to salt so many herring, and if they ate so many they should be like pin-cushions before spring.
There had been a fair wind to carry them down to Kingstown, and in returning they were forced to beat.
"But there's going to be a change," said Manuel, surveying the heavens with a sailor's practised eye, "and after we get round the Point 'twill be all right."
That was when they were making their way out of Kingstown Harbor, and little Israel was shouting with wonder at the herring, which sometimes seemed like a great wall, through which the Delight pushed her bow slowly.
"Round the Point?" echoed young Josiah and Caddy, wonderingly; and Caddy thought again of the blow on the head that had been enough to kill anything but a "Portergee."
And Manuel, growing suddenly pale, and showing new, strong lines in his sharp little sixteen-year-old face, beckoned them impressively aft—yet not so far aft as to be overheard by Jo Fretas, who was at the helm. Cap'n 'Siah was watching the herring with little Israel, and saying, "I wum! I never see so much of anything in my life, without 'twas sand."