Chapter XXI: “storm Along, John!”

At nine o’clock that morning Bradley, with his head bandaged, sat in the rocking chair by the window of his chamber, looking out. On the table beside him were medicine vials, teaspoons and a pencilled memorandum in Doctor Palmer’s handwriting. Also there was an Emulsion bottle and a steaming pitcher of “pepper tea.” These last were Miss Tempy’s contributions. That lady herself, with a face whiter even than Bradley’s own, and with fingers that shook until holding a needle was next to an impossibility, was seated in a chair by the door, pretending to sew. Every now and then she looked up, seemed about to speak, and then, seeing the expression on the young man’s face, remained silent. Occasionally she wiped her eyes with her handkerchief.

Miss Prissy was downstairs in the sitting-room listening to the steady stream of conversation and questions that flowed from the lips of Melissa Busteed. Miss Busteed had left her breakfast dishes unwashed, so that she might be the first to visit the Allen home.

Clara rapped on the bedroom door. “Bradley,” she said, “Cap’n Titcomb is downstairs. May he come up?”

Miss Tempy spoke and with decision. “No, _indeed_!” she exclaimed. “The Doctor said Bradley wasn’t to see anybody. I should think the Cap’n would----”

She bit her lips and sewed vigorously. Bradley turned from the window.

“Tell the Cap’n to come right up,” he said. “Yes, Miss Tempy; I must see him.”

Miss Tempy started to protest, but did not. Instead she picked up her workbasket and rose. “Now, Bradley, please----” she pleaded, with emotion, “don’t talk about the--about your bus’ness and git over-excited. It’s bad enough as it is without---- Good mornin’, Cap’n Titcomb.”

Her salutation was formal and very dignified. So also was her manner as she swept out of the room. The Captain said, “Good mornin’,” in an absent-minded way. He looked pale and anxious and there were circles under his eyes. He went over and shook his partner’s hand. Then he sat down heavily in Miss Tempy’s chair.

“Well, Cap’n,” said Bradley, cheerfully, “I’ve been expecting you. I must look about as you did the morning after you butted into the _Thomas Doane’s_ deck.”

Captain Titcomb did not smile. “I’ve seen the Doctor,” he observed. “He says you’ll be all right in a couple of days. I’m glad of that much, anyhow.”

“I’m all right now. Little shaky, that’s all.” Then, after a pause, “Well?”

His partner drew a long breath. “Well,” he said, slowly, “I’ve done it this time, ain’t I? I ought to hunt up Jabe Bailey and tell him I realize he had me sized up ’bout right. Ez Titcomb, the blasted fool!” He laughed bitterly.

“I don’t see that you’ve done it any more than I have,” was Bradley’s calm reply.

“Yes, you do, too. You kept after me with a sharp stick ’bout that dynamite, and I, like the idiot I am, let it go. I’ve seen Obed this mornin’. We don’t git the insurance.”

“Of course not. I was sure of that.”

The Captain was silent. Then he struck the arm of his chair and swore between his teeth. “I ain’t a murderin’ man, gin’rally speakin’,” he muttered, “but I’d give ten years of my life to have my hand on that cuss Hammond’s chicken neck jest about now.”

Bradley looked out of the window. “Where is he?” he asked.

“Nobody knows. I cal’late he’s skipped the town. Good thing for him! But we’ll land him yit, as soon as I can git the sheriff on his tracks.”

“Do people know he set the fire?”

“No, not for sartin. Some might suspect, I s’pose, but I ain’t said nothin’ to anybody yit. I will, though, you bet your life on that!”

“No, you won’t. I don’t want you to.”

Captain Titcomb sat up straight. “Don’t _want_ me to?” he repeated.

“No. I ask you, as a favor to me, not to tell anybody. Let them guess whatever they please, but don’t tell them the truth.”

The senior partner was dumb with astonishment. He looked curiously at his companion. “I--I s’pose likely you know who snaked you out of the wet last night?” he asked, after a bit.

“Yes.”

Bradley knew that Gus had picked him up as he wallowed unconscious in the water. Clara had told him, and the Captain had told her when they brought the young man home. For a moment his heart had leaped with a great joy, but then he remembered that Hammond had been on the schooner, and in plain sight from the shore. Not for an instant did Bradley think that the girl knew for what purpose her lover had boarded the _Diving Belle_, but she had, no doubt, seen him there, as had the others, and gone to his rescue. He pitied her--when she should learn what sort of a man Hammond was, but he determined she should learn it from other lips than his.

So he was silent, and Captain Titcomb did not mention the subject again. At length the latter said: “Well, Brad, there’s no use of my askin’ you to forgive me, because it ain’t a forgivin’ kind of deal. I got you into this wreckin’ game, and you did a blame sight more’n I did to make it grow. I was the crazy fool that took the contract that’s goin’ to bust us, and I took it in spite of your tellin’ me not to. And now, all along of me, we’ve lost the schooner, insurance and all. I don’t care for myself, but I--I like you, Brad. I never took to man nor boy as I’ve took to you. And, by crimus, when I think of how I’ve ruined you, I’m ready to go down to the dock and say, ‘Here goes nothin’,’ and jump off. If it wan’t for Clara, I cal’late I would.”

“Don’t talk that way, Cap’n Ez,” began Bradley, but the Captain went on.

“There’s one thing, though,” he said. “You shan’t have none of the blame. I’ll tell every man in this town that ’twas all me. I’ll go up to Cook and Son and let them know it, too. I’ll work out the schooner debt for the bank folks, and I’ll git you the best mate’s job that I can. Of course, that don’t make up for the wrong I’ve done you, but----”

“Cap’n Ez,” interrupted Bradley, looking keenly at his partner, “why do you speak of getting me a mate’s job? Is it because you feel that, now the _Diving Belle_ is gone, we can’t carry through the contract?”

The senior partner’s answer was prompt enough, but he looked at the floor when he made it. “_Can_ we carry it through?” he rejoined. “Maybe you don’t understand how things are with us. What little money we’ve got on hand belongs to the folks that hold the mortgage on the schooner; we can’t use it. We ain’t got any vessel now, nor any craft with power, to help us out. We can’t weather another pay-day unless somebody lends us more money, and who’d be jackass enough to do that, even if I had the brass to ask for it? No, Brad; the best thing for you is to quit and git to sea again afore I sink you so deep you’ll never come to the top.”

Bradley leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Cap’n,” he said, “I see through you like a book. You talk of quitting because you don’t want me to take any more chances. If you were alone in the deal you’d go ahead somehow.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Shut up; I know you. Now, listen: I know how we stand, but I say fight it out. Come on! we’ll go down to the Point and work harder than ever, nights and Sundays and all. We’ll keep a stiff upper lip, and, by the living jingo, we’ll clear the _Freedom_ or go to pieces with her!”

The Captain sprang to his feet. “Do you mean that you’ll stick to me in spite of what I’ve done?” he cried.

“You ought to know I will. As for blame, it’s as much mine as yours. Will you stick by _me_ and keep up the fight?”

“Will I? _Will_ I? Brad--Brad, you know----” He turned his face away, but he stretched out his hand. Bradley seized and wrung it.

“And now,” said Bradley, “we’ll go down to the Point.”

“You’re not goin’ to the Point _to-day_! Son, you’ve done more’n enough for me as ’tis; don’t kill yourself.”

“Get my overcoat and hat. I’m going to the Point _now_.”

And he went in spite of his partner’s protests and the “old maids’” pleadings and direful prophecies concerning his health. He was kind, but so firm that they soon saw there was no use arguing. Miss Prissy, however, at a great sacrifice to her pride, called the Captain to one side and whispered:

“Cap’n Titcomb, I’m ’fraid he’s goin’ to his death. Take care of him and keep him out of danger. Don’t let him git cold. If you knew how much store Tempy and me set by him, you’d----”

She could not finish.

“I know, Prissy,” replied the Captain, earnestly. “I cal’late I feel a little that way towards the boy myself. Brad seems to have took the bit in his teeth lately, but I’ll bring him back safe or stay there myself for good.”

Ira Sparrow took them to the Point in the _You and I_. Bearse, Ellis and some of the other men went with them. On the way Bradley and his partner discussed the situation. The work on the barge was going on as if nothing had happened, although the news of the firm’s loss had been telephoned to the life-saving station early that morning. Barney Small met them as they climbed over the _Freedom’s_ rail. He was very sober and shook his employers’ hands with silent sympathy.

“I told the boys to turn to,” he said. “I didn’t know what your plans was, but I wan’t goin’ to quit till you said the word.”

“Much obliged, Barney,” said Bradley. “Call all hands aft. I want to talk to them.”

The men came in groups, soot-streaked and perspiring. They gathered in the waist, whispering to each other and glancing askance at Captain Titcomb and Bradley, who stood upon the raised deck by the wheel. In most of the grimy, sunburned faces there was a friendly concern. All looked embarrassed and awkward. When the whole crew was standing there, silently waiting, the Captain came forward.

“Men,” he said, “there ain’t any need for me to tell you what’s happened. The _Divin’ Belle_ was burned last night, and she wan’t insured. Most of you know what that means to me and my partner. A good many of you are fellers I’ve known all my life. Some of you like me--some, maybe, don’t. You know that ha’f of Orham is sayin’ this mornin’ that Ez Titcomb’s got what was comin’ to him at last. All right, the blame’s mine and I’ll take my medicine without makin’ any faces over it. I don’t ask anything for myself. But I do ask you to listen to what this boy here,” laying his hand on Bradley’s shoulder, “has got to say. That’s all. Now, Brad.”

There was a stir throughout the crowd as Bradley stepped forward. He was silent for an instant, looking down at them. Then he spoke.

“Fellows,” he said, “when Cap’n Titcomb and I took the contract to get this barge off the shoals we risked every dollar we had. More than that, we mortgaged our new schooner to raise money to pay you with. She was burned last night, and, as the Cap’n said, there is no insurance. The little money we have on hand belongs to the people who took the mortgage. We couldn’t pay you for another week’s work. So then, either we must give up the contract--which will ruin us and drive the firm out of the wrecking business for good--or we must come to you with another proposition. I think every man who has worked for us knows that we don’t play favorites. Every fellow knows that he’ll be treated fair so long as he does his work. But this I want to say--we’ll stick to those who stick by us. We shan’t forget our friends. And this is our proposition: To the men who will volunteer to help us get this barge afloat, we will pay four dollars a day--instead of three, as you’re getting now--_when_ we float her and get our money. If we fail, you get nothing and so do we. If we win, you win. We can float her if the weather holds good. What I’m asking is that you share our chances. It’s up to you. What do you say?”

Bradley stopped and put his hands in his pockets. The men shuffled their feet and looked at each other. One or two of them whispered behind their hands. Then Barney Small snatched his rusty cloth cap from his head, tossed it to the deck, and jumped upon it with both feet.

“Stage is ready for Orham, South Orham, West Harniss and Setuckit P’int,” he shouted. “Git aboard! Come on, you lubbers! Have me and Brad and Cap’n Ez got to work her off alone?”

Alvin Bearse struck the ex-stage driver a resounding thump in the back. “You bet you ain’t!” he cried. “I’m in!”

“Me, too!” said Ira Sparrow.

“Present and accounted for,” observed Bill Taylor. Ellis simply nodded and stepped forward. Others joined them, by twos and threes.

Then Peleg Myrick sauntered to the front. “I dunno’s I jest understand what the boss wants,” he drawled; “but if there’s anything me and Skeezicks can do, why----”

There was a great shout of laughter. Peleg was indignant. “What’s the matter with you?” he snorted. “That dog’s got a durn sight more sense than most of them what makes fun of him.”

“Right you be!” bellowed Barney. “Come on, you loafers! Are you goin’ to be beat by a Greaser pup--a bald one at that?”

That settled it. There was a cheer, and the men began pushing each other out of the way to join the volunteers. In a few minutes there were only five who had not come forward.

“What’s the matter with you, Lon?” asked Alvin Bearse, sarcastically. “Be your feet asleep?”

Mr. Clark looked uneasy, but he did not move. “I ain’t used to workin’ for nuthin’,” he replied, sullenly.

“Nor me nuther,” agreed Ike Bodkin, standing by his friend.

“Nothin’ is about twice what you’re wuth,” cried Barney, indignantly. “By Judas, if you can’t work you can swim! Let’s give ’em a bath, fellers. They need it.”

He started for the frightened five. Others followed him. There were cries of “Chuck ’em overboard!” Bradley shouted, “Stop!”

“Let them alone, boys,” he commanded. “Clark, you and Ike and the rest, take one of those dories and make for the Point. Lively! Fellows,” he added, turning to the others, “Cap’n Titcomb and I are much obliged. Now, then, turn to!”

In five minutes the crowd had scattered, the engines were puffing, and the great buckets were emptying the coal from the _Freedom’s_ hold into the sea.

“Son,” said Captain Titcomb’, laying a hand on his partner’s arm, “they did that for you, not me. If we _should_ win out on this job, the credit’ll belong to you. And now for it! It’s neck or nothin’ this time sure!”

* * * * *

And after that came work, work, work. The men were organized into day and night gangs. Bradley commanded the former, Captain Titcomb the latter.

The _Freedom_ at night was a strange spectacle. Lanterns were hung all over her deck and within her hull. They sparkled in clusters by her hatches; they swung beside the tackles in the rigging. The life savers patrolling Setuckit beach heard, above the crash and boom of the surf along the shore, the roar of the falling coal and the shrill whistle of the donkey engines. Looking down through the black squares of the hatchways, one saw active figures capering above with shovels in their hands. Shouts came up. Queer, distorted shadows flickered, stretched to gigantic size, or shrunk to those of pudgy dwarfs. But the shadows were never still, never the same; they were always busy.

The partners hired the _You and I_ to do what she could of the work the _Diving Belle_ had been engaged in. The lack of the schooner was a great handicap, but they had no funds with which to hire a large vessel.

They made their headquarters aboard the barge now. Bradley did not go up to Orham at all. When his day’s work was over, he ate a hasty supper and tumbled into a berth in the skipper’s cabin, sometimes to sleep, but more often to lie awake and plan for the morrow. He was still pale and weak from the effects of the blow on the head, but he would not take it easy, as the Captain begged. The worry and strain of the labor were, in a sense, reliefs to him; they kept him from thinking of other things.

Each morning the “old maids” telephoned to the station to learn how he felt, and how the work was progressing. Bradley gathered from Miss Prissy’s anxious remarks that, in the village, the partners’ failure was regarded as a foregone conclusion. The news made him only more determined to succeed.

Cook and Sons wired daily, and every afternoon a report was sent to them. These reports were growing more optimistic. The barge was eating her way steadily through the shoal, and as she was lightened she moved faster. They watched the cables as a cat watches a rat hole, keeping them always tight. The Captain said, “Brad, if I didn’t know what was the matter, I should b’lieve my old Sunday-school teacher was right. He always swore I’d be hung some day, and now all I can dream about is ropes.”

The Captain’s energy was something wonderful. A nervous man by nature, he flew from one end of the _Freedom_ to the other, commanding, helping, hurrying. With the men he was always cheerful and sure of success, but once in a while, alone with his partner, he showed his real feelings. One morning, before “turning in,” he went ashore to telephone. When he came back he called Bradley aside and said:

“Brad, Sam says the Gov’ment weather folks are foretellin’ a big storm for day after to-morrer. It’s comin’ from the south and’ll strike here about then. It’s a terror, they say. It worries me. I’m more scart of a gale of wind jest now than I am of the Old Harry himself.”

The junior partner looked troubled. “Wonder if that’s what’s distressing Peleg?” he observed. “Peleg has been after me ever since the fire. Says he’s got something to tell me.”

“He’s been pesterin’ me, too. I ain’t had no time to listen to _his_ yarns. Let’s see him.”

They sent for the weather prophet, who appeared, dirtier than ever. “Look here, Peleg,” was the Captain’s salutation. “What do we feed you for? Here’s the Gov’ment weather sharp smellin’ out a gale, and you ain’t peeped. You’ll have to put specs on your second sight, or we’ll ship a new prophet, one or t’other.”

Mr. Myrick was troubled. “Now, Cap’n Ez,” he protested, in an aggrieved tone, “ain’t I been tryin’ to git at you or Brad for four days or more? _I_ know there was a blow comin’. She’s comin’ a-bilin’, too. And I don’t need no specs nuther.”

“Humph! Brad, this is the devil and all, ain’t it? That’ll do, Peleg.”

“But, Cap’n Ez, there’s somethin’ else I wanted to tell you. I----”

“Never mind now. Put it on ice. Git!”

Peleg “got,” but with reluctance. He kept looking back and shaking his head. Captain Ezra’s face was very solemn. His forehead wrinkled and he pulled his mustache nervously.

“By crimustee!” he muttered. “We’ve got to do somethin’ quick. I know you don’t take any stock in Peleg, but if that gale _does_ come, we’re knocked higher’n the main truck. She’s loosenin’ up so now that a tug might help us. I can git a little one from Vineyard Haven, skipper, engineer and all, for forty dollars a day.”

“But they won’t work on spec.”

“No. I’m goin’ to Wellmouth to see the bank folks. I’ll tell ’em that if they ever hope to git back the rest of the money they lent on the _Divin’ Belle_, they must risk enough to pay for that tug. I’m goin’ now.”

“But you’ve been up all night. Let me go. You turn in.”

“Turn in be durned! I’d sleep about as sound as an eel on a perch hook. I can turn in when I can’t do anything else. Good-bye. Put in your spare time prayin’ for me, will you?”

He went to Wellmouth, saw the people at the bank, and, as he said, “talked from his boots up.” At twelve o’clock of the following day the little tug put in an appearance. She got a grip on the _Freedom’s_ bow and pulled with the tide.

The expected gale did not come that day. But the next afternoon the sky was overcast and the sun disappeared behind angry clouds. It was blowing fresh when Bradley, worn out, went to his berth at nine o’clock. He had fought against going at all, but Captain Titcomb said, “Put in an hour or two anyway. I’ll call you if you’re wanted.”

He called him before the second hour was up. “Come on deck, Brad,” he cried, excitedly. “That sou’easter’s on the road and it’s backin’ up the biggest tide ever I saw. ’Tain’t high water till two, but she’s pretty nigh as high as usual now.”

The junior partner hurried on deck. The wind was singing in the rigging and the waves were rushing past the barge, slapping furiously at her as they passed. The night was a dead black and the surf on the ocean side of the Point boomed like heavy artillery.

“I’ve sent ashore for the day shift,” said the Captain. “We’ve got to make our fight now. Looks as if ’twas out last chance, and a mighty slim one.”

The dories brought the tired men from the beach. They had worked hard all day, but they were ready to work still harder now. They realized that, one way or another, this was the end of the big job.

The little tug, bouncing up and down on the waves, was throwing her whole weight on the tow line. Alvin Bearse stood by the donkey engine, ready to take in every inch of the cable. The partners were in the bow. The buckets were flying from the hold.

“She gained a heap last tide,” murmured the Captain. “This extry high water and the waves ought to help her like fun. But I’m ’fraid ’twon’t be enough, and to-morrer the sou’easter’ll land with both feet.”

Waiting was the hardest thing. A half hour seemed longer than an ordinary day. The wind gained in force, little by little. The tide crept up the barge’s side. At one o’clock it was far higher than it had ever reached before, and so powerful was its rush that the huge hull quivered in its grasp. The water, seen by the lantern’s light, was the color of chocolate, streaked and marbled with lines and eddies of foam.

Half-past one. The Captain put his watch in his pocket and wiped his forehead.

“I know how it feels when you’re waitin’ to be hung,” he observed. “Thirty minutes for the firm to live, Brad; then----”

A mighty blow from a wave, a tremble, and then a roll. The lanterns in the rigging spun around in circles. The men on the deck and below fell in heaps. The _Freedom_ lifted, straightened, and began to rock in her “cradle.” The cables sagged into loops. Their silent partner, the Tide, had come to the firm’s rescue.

Bradley got upon his feet. “Haul taut!” he screamed. Before the order was given Bearse was back at his engine. The windlass shrieked.

Captain Titcomb roared through his speaking trumpet. The towboat shot forward, then back, her screw threshing the water. The little _You and I_ bobbed beside her; she was pulling, too.

And then, a long scraping, breathless interval. A halt, a shock, and, pushing a wall of sand before her, the _Freedom_ plunged into deep water.

There was no cheering. A subdued murmur, like a sigh, came from the crowd on her deck. Men drew sooty arms across wet foreheads and looked at each other without speaking. She was off the shoal, but far from being out of danger yet. She must be got over into the deep hole behind the Point, where she could safely ride out the coming gale. And to get her into this haven there was only the little tug to depend upon. Could the tiny craft do it in that wind and sea? If not, then the barge would almost surely drag her anchors, would strike again, and then--well, then all the work, and the triumph so nearly won, would count for nothing.

They brought her up to her anchors, out in the middle of the channel. There they waited for the tide to turn. The silence was heart-breaking. Only now and then did anyone speak. In clusters by the rail they stared at the big waves and the foam-streaks gliding by. At last Captain Titcomb snapped his watchcase shut, and shouted through his trumpet. The towboat puffed into position. The anchors were lifted from the bottom. The time for the final test had come.

Then the little tug showed what she was made of. Coughing, panting like a bull-dog straining at a chain, she pulled at that hawser. And, slowly at first, but gaining headway as she moved in the dead water of the slack of the tide, the _Freedom_ followed her through the channel around the edge of the shoal into the cove--and safety. At ten minutes to four that morning the last big anchor was sent down.

“There!” shouted Captain Titcomb. “She’ll stay where she is now if it blows hard enough to frazzle out a handspike. Boys, the job’s done. Knock off!”

They answered him with a cheer that woke the cat from his sleep beneath the stove at the lighthouse.

The tug took them to the Point. They perched all over her, heedless of the cold and the flying spray. The men were wildly excited over the unexpected good luck. They cheered the partners again and again and gave three groans for the “quitters,” meaning Mr. Clark and his friends. Peleg Myrick was bearing his concertina to safe quarters in the shanty, and they insisted that he should play it. Peleg protested that it was too wet for music on board that tug, but they threatened to heave the “push-and-pull-pianner” overboard if he didn’t play.

“Play somethin’ we can sing,” ordered Bill Taylor.

Peleg struck up a doleful dirge of the sea. It was loaded to the gunwale with wrecks and disasters.

“Belay that!” cried Barney Small. “We don’t want no Come-all-ye’s. That’s the tune that soured the milk. Give us a hoe-down.”

The musician considered. Then he burst into the air that every fisherman knows:

“The grub is in the galley and the rum is in the jug--
Storm along, John! John, storm along!
The skipper’s from Hyannis and he gives us bully mug--
Storm along, storm along, John!”

“Chorus!” howled Barney, waving his cap. They joined in with a whoop:

“Storm along, John! John, storm along!
Ain’t I glad my day’s work’s done!
Storm along, John! John, storm along!
Ain’t I glad my day’s work’s _done_!”

Bradley stood by the back door of the big shanty, looking out at the storm. The first sickly light of morning was streaking the dingy, tumbled sky. Inside the building the men were keeping up their celebration. No one had suggested turning in.

Captain Titcomb came around the corner. “There you are, hey!” he exclaimed, with a breath of relief. “Blamed if I didn’t begin to be afraid you’d tumbled overboard. Well, son, we did it! by crimus, we did it! thanks to the good Lord for sendin’ that whoopin’ big tide. Titcomb and Nickerson ain’t ready for the undertaker yit. _Now_ you can go up to Orham and tell Gus Baker somethin’ wuth while.”

Bradley shrugged his shoulders. Now that the strain was over, and they had won, the thoughts that he had put aside were coming back. He was realizing that the firm’s success didn’t mean much to him. After all, what did he really care?

“I guess Gus wouldn’t be greatly interested,” he said.

The Captain seized him by the shoulders and spun him around. “Look here, son!” he cried. “What fool idea have you got in your head? What’s the matter with you? Wouldn’t be _interested_! the girl that risked her life to haul you out of the drink!”

Bradley shook his head. “I guess you forget that Hammond was in the drink, too,” he said.

Captain Titcomb smote his partner a blow in the chest.

“You crazy loon!” he shouted. “Is _that_ what’s ailin’ you? Do you s’pose she cares a hurrah in Tophet for that scamp? Listen to me! I was closer’n anybody to Gus when she rowed acrost the harbor that night. Sam was right under the bow of her skiff. He hailed her. She saw him--looked right at him. But she never reached out a hand. Left him to drown, like the durned rat he is, and went on after you. After _you_, d’you understand? Does that look----”

“Stop!” Bradley’s eyes were ablaze. “Is that true? Say that again!”

“_True?_ Say it again? I’ll sing it, or swear it on the Bible if you want me to. Why, you ought to git down and _crawl_ to that girl. She’s---- Hi! where you goin’?”

There was no answer. Bradley was running at full speed for the beach. A few minutes more and he was in the _You and I_, heading across the bay, through the rising storm and in the dull morning light, bound for Orham.

And behind him, from the shanty, floated the chorus:

“Storm along, John! John, storm along!
Ain’t I glad my day’s work’s done!
Storm along, John! John, storm along!
_Ain’t_ I glad my day’s work’s DONE!”