A big four-by-five blackboard hung in the cabin, and Harvey never understood the need of it till, after some blinding thick days, they heard the unmelodious tooting of a foot-power fog-horn--a machine whose note is as that of a consumptive elephant.
They were making a short berth, towing the anchor under their foot to save trouble.

"Square-rigger bellowin' fer his latitude," said Long Jack.

The dripping red head-sails of a bark glided out of the fog, and the _We're Here_ rang her bell thrice, using sea shorthand.
The larger boat backed her topsail with shrieks and shoutings.
"Frenchman," said Uncle Salters, scornfully.

"Miquelon boat from St.
Malo." The farmer had a weatherly sea-eye.

"I'm 'most outer 'baccy, too, Disko." "Same here," said Tom Platt.