when it was too dark to see. They even used the cook as pitcher, and turned Harvey into the hold to pass salt, while Dan helped to dress down. Luckily a Parry Norman man sprained his ankle falling down the foc’sle, and the We’re Here s gained. Harvey could not see how one more fish could be crammed into her, but Disko and Tom Platt stowed and stowed, and planked the mass down with big stones from the ballast, and there was always “jest another day’s work.”
Disko did not tell them when all the salt was wetted. He rolled to the lazarette aft the cabin and began hauling out the big mainsail.
This was at ten in the morning. The riding-sail was down and the main- and topsail were up by noon, and dories came alongside with letters for home, envying their good fortune.
At last she cleared decks, hoisted her flag—as is the right of the first boat off the Banks—up-anchored, and began to move. Disko pretended that he wished to accomodate folk who had not sent in their mail, and so worked her gracefully in and out among the schooners. In reality, that was his little triumphant procession, and for the fifth year running it showed what kind of mariner he was. Dan’s accordion and Tom Platt’s fiddle supplied the music of the magic verse you must not sing till all the salt is wet:
“Hih! Yih! Yoho! Send your letters raound! All our salt is wetted, an’ the anchor’s off the graound! Bend, oh, bend your mains’l, we’re back to Yankeeland—
With fifteen hunder’ quintal, An’ fifteen hunder’ quintal, ’Teen hunder’ toppin’ quintal, ’Twix’ old ’Queereau an’ Grand.”
The last letters pitched on deck wrapped round pieces of coal, and the Gloucester men shouted messages to their wives and womenfolks and