The Two Chanty-Men

OF late years, in the fall, as soon as pollock are reported in any considerable number on the Big Bumbo Ground, Skipper Job Gaskett finds means to communicate the fact to his early shipmate, Abram Kentle, of distant Dogfish Point. White-haired Abram, who has but lately returned after many years’ absence, then rolls up a “shift” of clothes in an oilskin suit, and with the bundle under his arm, betakes himself down the old post road to the house of his friend at Killick Cove. In anticipation of this now annual visit, Skipper Job has his drag-boat and gear in readiness, and for some time both follow the example of many others in the town, and devote themselves to laying in a supply of winter’s fish.

Starting away from home at the usual early hour one mild morning, dearth of suitable bait and a failure of the wind so delayed their return, that darkness shut down before they again reached the mouth of the broad stream, just inside of which lay Killick Cove. By this time a dense fog had rolled in from the sea, and encountering the strong ebb-tide out of the river, they were obliged to anchor. After a dish of hot tea in the cuddy, the disappointed fishermen lighted their pipes, and fell to pacing that small portion of deck remaining between kid-boards, hogshead tubs, and like clutter of the little craft. On the forward rigging, around a smoky riding - light, thickly studded drops of water sparkled against an inky background. Through the lantern’s yellow glimmer the thick fog solemnly sifted past, and under the boat’s bow fast swirling eddies of the rushing ebb lapped with stealthy trickle.

“How like the mischeef this tide doos empt to-night, you!” said Skipper Gaskett. “It must lack all of two hours’ time to low-water slack, yit. I do wisht we could saved our tide in home this afternoon, for I cal’lated to foot it acrosst to the Crick and try to pick me a bucket of cockles off’n the flats, so’s to piecen out our bait to-morrow. There’s times you know, when seems’s though pollock would n’t look at nothin’ else unless’n 't is cockles.”

“Pollock is consid’ble partial to cockles, no two ways about that,” said Abram Kentle. “Talkin’ of going acrosst to the Crick, though, I wonder is there ary one of them Crick Bowses left over there at this day o’ the world? Ezry Bowse was in the old Nonesuch the fust time ever we went off-shore, ye rec’lect.”

“ Yes, I know, but you hain’t need look for ary Bowse alive to this Cove these twenty year and more,” Job Gaskett replied. “It’s some sing’lar, too, the way the whole kit of them Crick Bowses has made out to be drownded and killt off. There’s nothin’ only the cellar-hole left of the old home-place over there now’days.”

“I want to know ef they’re all hands on ’em goners,” Abram said. “This ’ere Ezry was called the best chanty-man ever trod a ratline aboard ship.”

“ Oh, complete, Ezry was, and no mistake!” the skipper assented. “He could n’t be beat noways, when it come to chantyin’. Ezry was all the one of the boys that ever come back to the old home-place there. After all the rest-part of the fambly was gone, he come back from sea one time, and lived over there all soul alone till he got through.”

“Sho, you!” said Abram Kentle. “Ezry he’d been off-shore in square-riggers ever sence he fust commenced to go, and I know ’t was seldom ever you’d hear the likes of him for chantyin’. Him and old Sammy Futtock was called by all odds the smartest pair o’ chanty-men ever went out of this river.”

“Nothin’ on two legs that ever went out of here could commence to tetch ’em, now that’s a fact!” said Job. “You come to take it ashore here of a morning when we’ll say a brand, spangin’ new ship laid to anchor, with a full crew of young bucks, every mother’s son on ’em from right ’round this Cove, like’s not; you take it the morning she cal’lated to git under way, and ef it did n’t sound some beautysome to hear them old chanties acrosst the river, then I would n’t never say so! Why, them days you know they’d have to commence heavin’ on the win’lass with handspikes same’s early this morning, and in this deep water prob’ly it would be hard onto noon-time afore ever they was hove short, with the boys chantyin’ stiddy the whole time!

roared Skipper Gaskett, while Abram Kentle joined in with a series of quavering wails.

“Seems’s though I’d give a finger jest to hear one of them A No. 1 old chanties again. By fire, but would n’t it seem something like, though! You let Ezry Bowse or Sammy Futtock, ary one, strike up ‘Storm along, Stormy!’ or ‘Santy Anna,’ or ‘Blow, boys, blow,’ or some other of them old favorytes, and the restpart of the crew would come down with the chorus fit to take you chock off’n your feet!” And again fired by the recollection of these old-time sea ditties, Job Gaskett once more burst forth: —

“Yes sir-ee! There was a slue of them chanties, and a reg’lar-built smart chantyman was a consid’ble big herb aboard ship in them days. He’d get more work outen the men a-chantyin’ than ever the mates could commence to.”

“ I guess he would so !” Abram Kentle said decidedly. “I been aboard vessel where seems’s though the men could n’t pull a pound’s heft without they had a chanty at every hand’s turn. Why, take it the time you and me was youngsters aboard the old Nonesuch, out of here; about how long would it took to heave short unless’n we had chantyin’ ? Set-fire, I cal’late the kelps would growed ten foot long the whole bigness of her bottom afore ever she’d been clear of this river!”

“You might jes’ soon undertook to do away with grub them days, as them same old chanty-men,” declared Job. “The breed is all died out, though, at this day o’ the world. Folks ’round here would gawk some to see old Ezry Bowse come rollin’ down along the road now’days, would n’t they ? I tell ye he was a proper old deep-water feller ef ever I sot eye on a one in my life! D’ ye rec’lect the big full-rigged ship in Injy-ink on the breast of him? He’d allus wear his shirt collar hove wide open in all weathers, so’s you’d catch sight of that ship’s royals and t’gallant-yards jest showing above his tie.”

“Solid Injy-ink him and Sammy was, their whole bigness, same’s the bulk of them old shell - backs,” said Abram. “What ever become of old Sammy Futtock, anyways ?” he added.

“Why,” replied the skipper, “him and Ezry lays together chock down in the furtherest sou ’west corner of the old Oakum Hill buryin’-ground.”

“ Sho, you! ” said Abram. “ What possessed folks to take and lay ’em so fur in from the road as all that, in room of down nigher home somewheres?”

“Waal, the way it looks to me, there wa’n’t no great call to lay ’em clean away down in there, as I can see,”Job said. “They’s mostly Advents lays in there back of the hill, you know. Ezry and Sammy had allus went together aboard ship their whole lives, and being as they kind of took up along with them Advents a short spell afore they come to git through, why seems’s though them same Advents turned to and laid ’em neck and neck one alongside t’other in back of the hill. Betwixt you and me and the windlass-bitts though, seems’s ef they never laid none too easy in there, neither.”

“Sho, now!” Abram said. “I ain’t been a-nigh the place sence I was the bigness of a trawl-kag, but I know that come to git in that fur, you’re handy-by to Heron Swamp. Ezry Bowse was allus counted a master weeked old creatur’, but for all that, I s’pose maybe he’d full lievser lay in back of the meetin’-house down to the Cove.”

“Jes’ so eggsactly! Now you’ve hit it for one thing!” cried Job. “I want my folks should take and lay me somewheres handy-by to the shore; some place where I ’ll be apt to git the rote good and plain by spells, anyways. How’d you love to lay clean away in there to the norrard of the hill, Abram ? leave alone being chucked clean down in the corner there, where take it spring - times, you ’ll go plumb to the knees, every clip! Do you cal’late ever you ’d love to lay chock down in there, and harken to nothin’ in God’s world unless’n it is the frogs a-peepin’ in amongst them cat-tails all around ye, jest only one stiddy yip ?”

“ I don’t want to lay in no sich shape! ” said Abram Kentle positively.

“No more doos them two, then!” the skipper rejoined. “When them that’s got through lay real good and easy, d’ ye call it anyways nach’al for ’em to up and travel by nights? Would n’t you sooner cal’late they’d stay put, in room of scullin’ round this river night-times, same’s they will by spells ?”

“Any one would suppose’n, now that’s a fact. Did ever you run a-foul on ’em yourself?” asked Abram. “Most the whole of you Gasketts allus was great on all sich works.”

“Time and again I’ve heard them two chantyin’ on this river by nights sence they got through, and I ain’t all the one to hear ’em at it, neither,” Job answered. “What’s more,” he added, “’t is allus called a proper good forerunner of a heavy breeze o’ wind consid’ble quick follerin’, too.”

“Waal,” said Abram, “I’m knowing to it there’s any God’s quantity of sich works going on all the time, of course. The thing of it is, though, some sees ’em or else hears ’em, and some ain’t made so’s to. That ain’t sayin’ but what the works is there, jest the same.”

“You can bate they’re there!” Job said. “I seen a raft on ’em in my day, too. But there, you, there’s a plenty more reasons why them two old reynucks don’t lay easy. I cal’late for one thing they was ’most too weeked ever to lay good and easy anywheres. Talk about your drinkin’ rum, and swearin’, and cussin’;— don’t never say a word! I been shipmates along o’ them that could swear and cuss jest a few, but you come to take Ezry or Sammy, ary one, and seems’s though they could n’t so much as open their mouths without they’d tear off a big chunk, like! Scand’lous weeked, them two allus was. Prob’ly you’ve heard tell the way Ezry finally turned to and prayed for a rainstorm that time, ain’t ye never?”

“No, sir; it’s tol’ble sure I never heard tell of him praying for nothin’!” declared Abram Kentle.

“Oh, for sure he did up and pray too, that once, but I guess that was all the prayer ever he got off, and that one was a plenty,” the skipper said. “I’ll have to tell ye about that scrape, then, seeing how I got drawed into it a little mite myself. Guess likely’t was the time you was away so long. Ezry and Sammy, you know, allus was the biggest kind of chummies, and cal’lated to hang together through thick and thin. After they’d got consid’ble well along in years, the two on ’em took a notion to quit going, and stop ashore the rest-part of their lives. They had enough laid by to rub along with like, and so Ezry he fetched his dunnage up to the old home-place there, and commenced to keep house all soul alone; that is, without no women-folks to do for him.

“Sammy Futtock he did have some cousins or something left, that lived clean away out back here amongst the alders in Number Two Deestrict, and seems’s though they would have give him a home and welcome, but all the place in town where he’d put in much of any time was over to Ezry Bowse’s, there. Sammy’s folks, ye see, was every one strict Advents. Them Advents allus growed thick as blackberries all up through Number Two, ever sence Adam was a plague-gone oakum-boy, I cal’late. Waal, seems’s though the women-folks in pertikler was possessed to coax Sammy to tend out on them meetings of theirn, and finally to convert him over, and all sich works, but Sammy he never appeared to have the least mite of use for them kind, and they could n’t seem to hitch hosses wuth a cent. Ef ever they did coax him to stop along on ’em a spell, Ezry Bowse allus would take and climb up a-top of a big high laidge o’ rocks right handy-by to his house, and commence a-chantyin’ ‘Rio’ so’s you ’d hear him the whole bigness of the Cove. The lungs of him was for all the world same’s a pair of blacksmith’s belluses, and same time there was allus something ter’ble drawring like to his voice, so’s folks would heave aside whatever they was doing of, and harken to her for all they was wuth. He’d turn to and shin up a-top of that big laidge where ’t was good and sightly, and then he’d strike up chantyin’, —

Set-fire, you! Time he was through with the fust verse, you’d hear Sammy Futtock answering of him down through the hollows betwixt them hills from ’most up to Heron Swamp: —

Mighty quick after, down Sammy would come hisself, snappin’ and cracklin’ through them bushes same’s ary wild creatur’, making a bee-line acrosst lots for Ezry’s place, and then the pair would turn to and have one of their reg’lar old times together, singing chanties and drinkin’ red rum till they could n’t so much as set up.”

“Sho, now!” said Abram. “Seems’s though Sammy cal’lated to slip and git under way soon’s ever Ezry signalized him, Advents or no Advents!”

“ Good land, yes; them two was bound to raise ructions there to Ezry’s place, anyways you could rig it. Master weeked, they allus was. Why, one time there was a whole kit of them Advents got together along with the Elder, and trooped it down to Ezry’s, cal’latin’to lay theirselves right out, and see ef they could n’t fetch the old reynuck to his oats someways or ’nother. Elder he turned to and opened up a-prayin’, and he prayed and he prayed till bimeby his throat give out on him complete, so’s he could n’t fetch another yip to save him. Ezry he sot there as perlite as ever you please, and they said wanted Elder should turn to and have a drop along of him, by way of helping out his throat like! Waal, next thing, all them dezen or twenty women Advents hopped up and commenced a-singin’ the very pootiest they knowed, but be jiggered ef afore they was anyways nigh through, Ezry did n’t turn to and start in chantyin’ ‘Sally Brown’ so’s to drown out the whole batch of ’em clip and clean! ' Sally Brown,’ ye know, ain’t cal’lated for no prayer-meetin’s by a jugful; consekense was them Advents finally concluded they’d full better quit, and jest give Ezry up for a bad egg like.”

“Noways to blame, neither,” commented Abram Kentle.

“Fur from it,” the skipper said. “Seems’s though the weeked old reynuck could make out to set there and behave hisself kind of half decent while Elder was to work prayin’, but soon’s ever it come to singin’, he cal’lated to take a hand hisself, and give ’em some p’ints. Waal, only a short spell after, he took a notion to make him a garden over there, though prob’ly he knowed no more how to make truck grow than what I do, and by fire! what I dunno in regards to it would fill a book; but anyways, he started in with a garden-patch that spring, and they all said kept her wed out nice as a pin for a spell, but the way it worked that year, we never got one sol’tary drop of rain till fall. The wells every one went bone dry; brooks was dry as puff-balls everywheres, and all the way in God’s world ever folks got so much as a turn o’ water was to take and haul it in bar’ls from a little b’ilin’ spring clean down in the thick of the swamp.

“ Waal, Ezry he worked same’s a nailer trying to save his garden that season, but bimeby when he come to see every namable thing in her going back on him complete, why, he commenced to take on horrid. I’ve heard tell the way he’d stomp ’round his place there, a-swearin’ and cussin’ fit to take your breath, till finally be jiggered, ef the old creatur’ did n’t take a notion to try prayin’ for rain hisseif, the way they was all hands doing of the whole bigness of the county. There was an uncle of mine had been off traipesing through the alders for his cow that day, and he overheard Ezry at it there, down in amongst his dry beans and truck. The old sir allus allowed Ezry says like this, — starting in at the fust commencement kind of easy and coaxin’ like, for him, — ‘Now look a-here you, Lord!’ ’s he, ‘I tell you jest how bad off I be. Here I been workin’ same’s ary nigger-slave to keep this ’ere garden all wed out in good shape, and I been luggin’ turns o’ water for these tormented beans and all the rest-part of the truck nigh the whole summer long, till there ain’t a drop I can beg or borry this side of Heron Swamp. Now,’ ’s he, ‘I can’t stand everything, no more’n a stone-drag, and I’ll be keelhauled ef ever I’ll turn to and lug water that fur, not for no garden! The heft o’ the stuff is gone for already, but I want you should turn to right off quick’s ever you can, and give us a good old soaker of a rainstorm afore it’s too late to save a thing. I don’t mean,’ ’s he, ‘no plaguegone fog-mull with dreeblin’ little showers by spells; a stiddy fortni’t of them kind would n’t be no objict with ’most every namable thing I got here all horned up same’s a burnt boot, but,’ ’s he, ‘jest turn to and let her go by the hocksheadtub; give us something will be apt to strike in chock to the roots, no matter ef you blow a livin’ gale o’ wind doing of it!’ And then to top off with, he up and says like this: ‘Now, Lord, ef you ain’t a mind to do this ’ere inside of twenty-four hours’ time, blame’ ef I won’t allus think hard of ye, and no mistake about it! ’ ”

“The blasphemis old reynuck!” exclaimed Abram Kentle, suddenly stopping his pacing. “That’s wuss’n his swearin’ and sayin’ over in the fust place. Do you cal’late, though, ever he did really turn to and talk that way ? ”

“Cal’late?” repeated Job. “No, I don’t cal’late nothin’ about it; I’m knowing to it that’s how he talked it! The old sir has told me it prob’ly a hundred times afore now.”

“ Waal, but how about the rainstorm ? ” asked Abram. “Did she come ? ”

“I ruther guess she made out to show up, ef I was any jedge! ” the skipper said. “Enough rain come to lay the dust, anyways, and some to spare. I kind of mistrusted there was an air o’ wind come with her too, for we busted ’most a brandnew mains’l aboard the Myrtie Gaskett that night, and had a dirty squeak of it to find the turf at all. That’s hossin’ ahead a grain too fast, though. You rec’lect old Tildy Purdick’s tavern up river in them days, do ye?”

“ Lord, yes,” Abram replied. “ Tildy’s place had consid’ble of a hard name long afore I left ’round here.”

“Waal,” continued Job, “it’s safe to say it never improved no great sight afterwards. You take it in the fall o’ the year, when there’d be a big fleet laying in here to anchor, and there was likely to be some tall old shindies up there by nights. Ezry and Sammy allus cal’lated to go up there by boat jest about once in every so often, so’s to fill their little rum-kags,and same time fetch home all they was able to lug un’neath their jackets; — ’t was seldom ever they’d forget that part of their errant, now, I tell ye. Old Tildy she allus seemed to have a soft spot in her heart for them two, and she’d cal’late for ’em not to start downstream for home without the tide had pinched a couple o’ foot, and was runnin’ out strong enough to fetch ’em down along no matter ef they was drunk as lords, which you can bate they most gin’ally was.

“Down river them two would come right on the strength of the ebb in Ezry’s old baskit of a wherry, a-singin’ them sea chanties jest one stiddy string. By spells maybe one on ’em would grab holt of an oar and go through the motions of rowing a grain, but the pair was allus and forever chantyin’ so’s everybody would be knowing to it they was coming down along, quick’s ever the tide pinched off, and had begun to empt in good shape.

“Old Cap’n Pel’tiah Roundturn he kep’ store them days ve rec’lect, right handy-by the shore, and the old sir was one of the real old ‘ square-riggers ’ hisself. Ezry and Sammy had been along of him in quite a few ships out of here, and the cap’n sot a great store by ’em, too. He allus allowed better sailor-men than them two, when they was sober, seldom ever trod a ratline, and so the old sir was in the habit of watchin’ out for ’em like, when they come down river three sheets in the wind with rum, and ef they was too setfired drunk to make a landing theirselves, he’d send a boat out to gaft onto ’em, and tow ’em in to his shore. He had a plaguy good heart into him, old Cap’n Pelly did. and I’ve knowed him to set up in his store half the night waiting to hear that chantyin’ coming down river with the ebb. Then some one would go and fetch ’em in as I say, abreast the store somewheres; heave their humdurgan out on the beach so’s they would n’t strike adrift again, and ef it wa’n’t too late or stormy-like, they’d leave ’em be in their boat to sober off fit to go home.

“There them two old shell-backs would set sometimes till long after the tide had dreened clean away down and left ’em stranded high and dry, a-chantyin’ away as chipper as ever you see, and never realizin’ a mite where they was to. The very last time ever I seen ’em setting there that way, I rec’lect well they was tunin’ up with ‘Haul on the Bowline,’ — you know how we’d have that chanty to set up on the weather-brace by, and quick’s ever we’d sing out ‘Haul,’ all hands would buckle down together. Waal, sir, so Ezry and Sammy sot there all dry on them flats that time a-chantyin’ jest only ‘Haul on the Bowline,’ and nothin’ else.

they’d give it to her in proper good shape. Each one on ’em had an oar over the side, and quick’s ever they’d said ‘The Bowline—Haul!’ be jiggered ef the pair would n’t lay right back on them thwarts and dig their oars into them mudflats so spiteful’t would start the clams a-squirtin’ for all they was wuth, everywheres inside a dezen boats’ lengths!”

“Sho, now! Must put ye in mind of a couple of old nach’als,” remarked Abram.

“So they did, for all the world, you!” the skipper said. “ But what I’m coming at, only a short spell after Ezry Bowse had prayed that way in his garden, him and Sammy started up river on another one of them high-jinks o’ theirn to Tildy Purdick’s place. They got filled up chock-a-block, same’s usual, but seems’s though it wa’n’t high-water slack till past night-time that day, and so they never got started down river till eonsid’ble late. It had been hermin’ up thick and greasy for foul weather all day, and by sundown shet in dungeon thick-a-fog here in the river. Old Cap’n Pelly he’d been called out of town quite sudden by sickness, though seems’s ef he left word with quite a few to look after Ezry and Sammy that night. What’s everybody’s business ain’t nobody’s, ye know, though; there was plenty folks heard ’em chantyin’ down along a-nigh midnight, but everybody cal’lated somebody else besides him was tending to ’em, and so betwixt the lot them two pore old fools come down on the strength of the ebb in a black dungeon o’ fog, and in room of stopping to the Cove, away they went chock out to sea, a-chantyin’ same’s ever.”

“Sho, you!” said Abram Kentle feelingly. “Rum will down the best on ’em in time, won’t it?”

“Never knowed it to fail in the long run, now that’s gospil truth,” Job said. “I was bound home from Canso that time, with a trip o’ fish in the old Myrtie. At daylight we was up abreast Dogfish P’int, but then she shet in on us, and held so plaguy mod’rit that come midnight and all the fur ever we’d got was off here a piece to the s’utheast; stark calm, and thick-a-fog as ever you see it sence Adam cut his eye-teeth. All to once we took the wind and rain together in a master heavy squall from the east’ard, so’s afore I could get the muslin off’n her, the mains’l split from head to foot. Finally, the wind backened in plumb to the no’theast and pricked on so scand’lous tough I took and hove her to with her head off-shore, in hopes the fog would scale so’s we’d git holt of the light on the Shags or something. All of a sudden, close aboard of us to wind’ard, there come this voice a-chantyin’,—

and in a secont’s time that dinged old wherry, with Ezry and Sammy setting chock in her bottom, was blowed down right agin our weather rail with a clip that stove in her whole broadside.”

“Spillt ’em in good shape, then?” Abram said.

“Why, nach’ally. ’T was jest only bull-luck that ever we was able to resicue ’em, too, and Sammy in pertikler was nigh spoke for. Sammy he’d sobered off enough so’s to turn to and bale like a good one, and that’s all the way ever the boat had kept a-top o’ water at all, for both oars was lost, and Ezry he would n’t do a thing without it was to set there in a foot o’ water, and chanty stiddy. Lord sakes! Water he ast for, and that’s jest what he got, for besides the saltwater that come over ’em, it rained that time same as heavin’ of it ker-chuck in your face by the draw-bucketful. We finally got holt of the light, and come into the harbor all right, but I dunno’s ever I was any tickleder to find a hole in the beach and git my anchors down than what I was that night, for it blowed fit to make a rabbit shed tears. Sammy Futtock, though, he was all broke up like, and never was his own self again. He ketched a fever, and after he come out of that, turned to and joined in along of them Advents; knocked off drinkin’ complete, and finally, they said, coaxed Ezry into acting kind of respectable for a spell. Fust thing anybody knowed, though, he up and died all of a sudden, and quick’s ever Ezry learnt the news, he took a shock like, hisself, so’s the pair got through pretty much together, same’s they lived. That’s how they come to lay together chock in there back of Oakum Hill.”

“Sho, you! Consid’ble of a little hist’ry, and no mistake,” said Abram Kentle. “But you claim they’re liable to chanty on this river by nights at this day o’ the world, do ye?”

“’T ain’t a year’s time sence I heard ’em myself,” said Job promptly. “Three times afore that I’ve been woke up by ’em to home there; three sep’rate times I’ve turned out of bed and hove up my window to harken and make dead sure I wa’n’t noways mistakened. Every time it’s been ebb tide and thick-a-fog, and nigh’s ever I could tell, it’s allus been ‘Storm along, Stormy’ I heard. That’s all the one ever they struck up the night they went adrift, accordin’ to all tell, and mind ye, too, a heavy breeze o’ wind has allus followed close in the wake of this same chantyin’. Now you take it last fall. For quite a spell the herring struck consid’ble thick here in the river, and there was a number of good dark nights when they’d rise to the torch in pretty fair shape. I rigged me up a torch one afternoon, and cal’lated to have a try at ’em in the eddy of Wrack Islant, along with old Uncle Fairway up the road there. After supper she shet in thick-afog, and the wind pretty nigh let go; ’t was a proper good night to torch herring, and no mistake. We had n’t but jest shoved off, when way out in the strength of the ebb, there come this chantyin’ jes’ same’s I’d allus heard afore. Now by fire! thinks I to myself right off, I’m jest plague-gone old fool enough to lay alongside that ’ere, and see who’s who, and what’s what! I knowed well it was liable to mean a gold watch or else a wooden leg, as the feller says, and as a gin’ral rule I don’t never cal’late to go fur out of my way jest to lock horns along with them kind of things; same time, you un’stand, no more do I cal’late to put up with any great sight of crowdin’ from ’em neither, and I see this time right off that with sich caterwaulin’, every blame’ herring in the river was like to be scairt into conniptions and skip. You know yourself, Abram, that ef you cal’late to torch by nights, you don’t want to raise no great hue and cry about it.

“I’m jest as partial to chantyin’ as the next one, and allus was, but come to have that shindy struck up the very secont I wanted to git me a herring or two was some aggravatin’, and r’iled me up consid’ble. Uncle Fairway was too deef to hear a thing, but I grabbed holt of the oars and give it to her for every pound I was wuth out into the tide, in hopes to head off them sounds, when be jiggered ef ’t wa’n’t my luck to break a tholepin, and afore ever I could whittle me a one out, the tide had run this ’ere chantyin’ chock out of hearing.”

“Sho, you!” said Abram. “Seems’s though your courage was good, ef you was lackin’ in jedgment like. I never would advise ye to try and hold your breath till you got me into no sich works myself, for I’m satisfied to leave alone of ’em clip and clean! Come, here’s an air o’ wind breezenin’ up already; let’s we up killick and be out of this afore ever them two come drifting down acrosst our bow to-night!”