."

Suddenly, as we were talking, a horn--a genuine old-fashioned
dinner-horn--pealed out, seemingly not a hundred yards ahead.

"Port your helm there!" shouted the skipper to Bonney, who was at the
wheel. The old sea-dog, Trull, caught up a tin bucket setting near,
and began drumming furiously; while the skipper, diving down the
companion way, brought up a loaded musket, which he hastily discharged
over his head.

"Shout, halloo, scream!" he sang out to us. "Make all the noise you
can, to let them know where we are!"

The schooner sheered off, minding her helm; and, at the same moment,
we saw the dim outline of a small vessel almost under the bows.

"What ship is that?" demanded Capt. Mazard.

"Schooner 'Catfish' of Gloucester," replied a boyish voice.

"Where bound?"

"Home."

"Can you give us the latitude?"

"Can't do it, skippy. Haven't seen the sun for a week. Not far from
forty-five degrees, I reckon."

"Are we in any danger of Cape Race?"

"Not a bit. We're more than a hundred miles east of it, I think."

The little schooner, of not more than sixty tons, drifted slowly past.
There were seven hands on deck; all boys of sixteen and eighteen, save
one. This is the training which makes the Gloucester sailors so prized
for our navy.

... During the evening, we heard at a distance the deep, grum whistle
of the Inman steamer going down to Halifax,--whistling at intervals to
warn the fishermen. It continued foggy all night, but looked _thinner_
by nine next morning. The captain brought up an armful of out-riggers
(a short spar three or four feet long to set in the side-rail, with a
small pulley-block in the upper end to run a line through.)

"Now, boys," said he, setting the out-riggers, "we will try the
cod.--Palmleaf! Palmleaf! Here, you sunburnt son! A big chunk of
pork!"

"They won't bite it," said old Trull.

"I've sometimes caught 'em with it," replied the captain. "It's pork
or nothing. We've no clams nor manhaden (a small fish of the shad
family) to lure them."

The stout cod-hooks, with their strong linen lines, were reeved
through the blocks, baited, and let down into the green water. For
some time we fished in silence. No bites. We kept patiently fishing
for fifteen minutes. It began to look as if old Trull was right.
Presently Kit jerked hastily.

"Got one?" we all demanded.

"Got something; heavy too."

"Haul him up!" cried the skipper.

Kit hauled. It made the block creak and