. The Viking blood; a story of seafaring. Don. Ill keep watchtil midnight, then Ill give you a hail. Well catch up onsleep when the boys are out in the dories to-morrow. Donald rolled into his berth in the cabin after a mug-up of molasses cake and coffee from the shack lockeror quick lunch cupboard in the forecastle. He felt tiredbut happy, and soon closed his eyes, lulled to slumber bythe steady ticking of the cabin clock, the regular snores ofhis shipmates, and the gentle rolling of the vessel. As heslept he dreamed that he was skipper of a fishing schooneras big as the Kelvinhaugh, running
. The Viking blood; a story of seafaring. Don. Ill keep watchtil midnight, then Ill give you a hail. Well catch up onsleep when the boys are out in the dories to-morrow. Donald rolled into his berth in the cabin after a mug-up of molasses cake and coffee from the shack lockeror quick lunch cupboard in the forecastle. He felt tiredbut happy, and soon closed his eyes, lulled to slumber bythe steady ticking of the cabin clock, the regular snores ofhis shipmates, and the gentle rolling of the vessel. As heslept he dreamed that he was skipper of a fishing schooneras big as the Kelvinhaugh, running a hundred dories, andthat he had brought her in full of fish and had won IraBurtons money. Ruth Nickerson met him on the dockas he landed and threw her arms around his neck and kissedhim. With a satisfied Ura-hum! he rolled his back tothe light of the lamp and sounded for forty fathoms,while Nickerson paced the weather quarter, smoking andplanning how he, a green fishing skipper, would get towindard of an old fish-killer like Ira ;I^ii CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO AFTER throe days hard fishing, they cleaned np thefish on their first berth. and when it thinnedont they hoisted sail and anchor and shifted to thenorthward. Every day was not a good fishing day. Some-times they got a mere handful of cod or haddock, and therewere other days when the April fogs were so dense that Cap-tain Nickerson had to keep the dories aboard, in spite of hisdesire to get a trip of fish quickly. These were the dayswhen Donald experienced the grey terror of the Banks—the soaking, impenetrable fog which would steal up ap-parently from nowhere and settle over the sea in a heavypall of finely atomized mist which defied sight and playedstrange tricks with sound. The fishermen hated fog, andwell they might. McKenzie got an idea of their antipathyone day when a huge New York liner almost got themas she whirled past them in the vapor. So close was she,that they had to let the main-boom run to the end of thes
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1920, bookidvikingbloods, bookyear1920
