The creature threshed up, wore round with a clatter and raffle, and lay head to wind within earshot.
A graybeard wagged over the bulwark, and a thick voice yelled something Harvey could not understand. But Disko’s face darkened.
“He’d resk every stick he hez to carry bad news. Says we’re in fer a shift o’ wind. He’s in fer worse. Abishai! Abi‑ shai !”
He waved his arm up and down with the gesture of a man at the pumps, and pointed forward. The crew mocked him and laughed.
“Jounce ye, an’ strip ye an’ trip ye!” yelled Uncle Abishai. “A livin’ gale—a livin’ gale. Yab! Cast up fer your last trip, all you Gloucester haddocks. You won’t see Gloucester no more, no more!”
“Crazy full—as usual,” said Tom Platt. “Wish he hadn’t spied us, though.”
She drifted out of hearing while the gray-head yelled something about a dance at the Bay of Bulls and a dead man in the foc’sle. Harvey shuddered. He