“Blood-ends for breakfast an’ head-chowder,” said Long Jack, smacking his lips.

“Knife oh!” repeated Uncle Salters, waving the flat, curved splitter’s weapon.

“Look by your foot, Harve,” cried Dan below.

Harvey saw half a dozen knives stuck in a cleat in the hatch combing.  He dealt these around, taking over the dulled ones.

“Water!” said Disko Troop.

“Scuttle-butt’s for’ard an’ the dipper’s alongside.  Hurry, Harve,” said Dan.

He was back in a minute with a big dipperful of stale brown water which tasted like nectar, and loosed the jaws of Disko and Tom Platt.

“These are cod,” said Disko.  “They ain’t Damarskus figs, Tom Platt, nor yet silver bars.  I’ve told you that ever single time since we’ve sailed together.”

“A matter o’ seven seasons,” returned Tom Platt coolly.  “Good stowin’s good stowin’ all the same, an’ there’s a right an’ a wrong way o’ stowin’ ballast even.  If you’d ever seen four hundred ton o’ iron set into the—­”

“Hi!” With a yell from Manuel the work began again, and never stopped till the pen was empty.  The instant the last fish was down, Disko Troop rolled aft to the cabin with his brother; Manuel and Long Jack went forward; Tom Platt only waited long enough to slide home the hatch ere he too disappeared.  In half a minute Harvey heard deep snores in the cabin, and he was staring blankly at Dan and Penn.

“I did a little better that time, Danny,” said Penn, whose eyelids were heavy with sleep.  “But I think it is my duty to help clean.”

“’Wouldn’t hev your conscience fer a thousand quintal,” said Dan.  “Turn in, Penn.  You’ve no call to do boy’s work.  Draw a bucket, Harvey.  Oh, Penn, dump these in the gurry-butt ’fore you sleep.  Kin you keep awake that long?”

Penn took up the heavy basket of fish-livers, emptied them into a cask with a hinged top lashed by the foc’sle; then he too dropped out of sight in the cabin.

“Boys clean up after dressin’ down an’ first watch in ca’am weather is boy’s watch on the ’We’re Here’.”  Dan sluiced the pen energetically, unshipped the table, set it up to dry in the moonlight, ran the red knife-blades through a wad of oakum, and began to sharpen them on a tiny grindstone, as Harvey threw offal and backbones overboard under his direction.

At the first splash a silvery-white ghost rose bolt upright from the oily water and sighed a weird whistling sigh.  Harvey started back with a shout, but Dan only laughed.

“Grampus,” said he.  “Beggin’ fer fish-heads.  They up-eend the way when they’re hungry.  Breath on him like the doleful tombs, hain’t he?” A horrible stench of decayed fish filled the air as the pillar of white sank, and the water bubbled oilily.  “Hain’t ye never seen a grampus up-eend before?  You’ll see ’em by hundreds ’fore ye’re through.  Say, it’s good to hev a boy aboard again.  Otto was too old, an’ a Dutchy at that.  Him an’ me we fought consid’ble.  ’Wouldn’t ha’ keered fer that ef he’d hed a Christian tongue in his head.  Sleepy?”