The tide was half out, and they sailed squarely in on the sand, grounding in a row, with the salmon boat in the middle.
Immediately Hans, one of French Frank's sailors, was into a skiff and pulling rapidly for the north shore.

The big demijohn in the stern-sheets told his errand.

They couldn't wait a moment to celebrate the fifty dollars they had so easily earned.

It is the way of the devotees of John Barleycorn.

When good fortune comes, they drink.