ked disgracefully the whole way out. The skipper got a good
Bluenose for his new second mate. The first day the Bluenose came
aboard one of the worst shirkers slung a bucket carelessly, cut the
deck, and then proceeded to curse the ship and all who sailed in her,
as he had been accustomed to do under the Britisher. The Bluenose mate
simply said, 'See here, just shut your head or I'll {100} shut it for
you,' on which the skulker answered by threatening to 'cut his chicken
liver out.' In a flash the Bluenose had him naped, slung, and flying
across the rail. A second man rushed in, only to be landed neatly on
the chin and knocked limp against the scuppers. The rest of the watch,
roused by this unwonted assertion of authority, came on, but stopped
short, snarling, when the Bluenose swung an iron bar from the windlass
in a way that showed he knew how to handle it effectively. The skipper
and mate now appeared, and, seeing a clear case of actual fight, at
once ranged themselves beside the capable Bluenose. The watch, a mixed
lot, then slunk off; and, from that day out, the whole tone of the ship
was changed, very much for the better.

It is pleasanter, however, to take our last look at a Bluenose vessel,
under sail, with Bluenose skipper, mates, and crew, and a Bluenose
cargo, all complete. But a word must first be said about other parts
and other craft, lest the Maritime-Province Bluenose might be thought
the only kind of any consequence. There were, and still are, swarms of
small craft in Canada and Newfoundland which belong mostly or entirely
to the fisheries, and which, therefore, will be noticed in another
{101} chapter. The schooners along the different coasts, up the lower
St Lawrence, and round the Lakes; the modern French-Canadian sailing
bateaux; the transatlantic English brigs that still come out to
Labrador; the many Britishers and Yankees that used to come to Bluenose
harbours and to Quebec; the foreigners that come there still; and the
host of various miscellaneous little vessels everywhere--all these are
by no means forgotten. But only one main thread of the whole historic
yarn can be followed here.

Before starting we might perhaps remember what a sailing vessel cannot
do, as well as what she can, when the proper men are there and
circumstances suit her. She is helpless in a calm. She needs a tow in
crowded modern harbours or canals. She can only work against the wind
in a laborious zigzag, and