"Disko was right.

It is a town!" "I've seen smaller," said Disko.

"There's about a thousand men here; an' yonder's the Virgin." He pointed to a vacant space of greenish sea, where there were no dories.
The "We're Here" skirted round the northern squadron, Disko waving his hand to friend after friend, and anchored as neatly as a racing yacht at the end of the season.

The Bank fleet pass good seamanship in silence; but a bungler is jeered all along the line.
"Jest in time fer the caplin," cried the Mary Chilton.
"'Salt 'most wet ?" asked the King Philip.
"Hey, Tom Platt! Come t' supper to-night ?" said the Henry Clay; and so questions and answers flew back and forth.

Men had met one another before, dory-fishing in the fog, and there is no place for gossip like the Bank fleet.