The next day he went out in the dory to try to find some signs of life, and in about three hours, the last remnant of his strength being gone, he saw smoke and the roofs of some houses, and he knew that he was saved. Even when he reached the shore in a pitiable condition, he would not go into the house until they promised him to get the body of his dory-mate. This heroic man lost his hands and the most of his toes, but he reached Gloucester alive. The story of his grit and devotion to his dory-mate are to-day told to the young fishermen of the fleet, and the men of the Banks will sing his praises until Time shall have wiped out all things which remain unrecorded. WHERE THE COD ABOUND On some of the schooners, by the middle of the season most of the salt is “wet.” It is then that the “Polly J.” follows the fleet up to the “Virgin.” This is a rocky ledge, many miles out in the desolate Bank seas, which rises to within a few feet of the surface of the ocean. Here the cod and camplin abound, and here, when it is time for them to run, most of the schooners come to anchor, sending out their little fleets until perhaps two thousand dories and schooners are afloat at the same time, within a distance of two or three miles of one another. When the schools of camplin come to the surface and begin to jump, the dories all close in on them, for the fishermen know that the cod are after them. Almost as quickly as the lines can be baited and cast overboard the fish strike on, and the work is steady and hard until the dories, loaded down almost to the gunwales, have made several trips of it, and the salt in the bins shows a prospect of being “all wet” before the week is out. The few days towards the end of the season at the “Old Virgin” are a race between the ships at catching and dressing down. The rival crews work from dawn until dark. At last the big mainsail of the victor--perhaps the “Polly J.”--is hauled out, the chain is hove in short, and the dories from less fortunate schooners crowd alongside with good wishes and letters for the folks at home. Anchor up, the flag is hoisted,--the right of the first boat off the Banks,--and the proud schooner, low lying in the water with her fifteen hundred quintal, bows gracefully to each vessel of the fleet at anchor as she passes them, homeward bound. WHEN THE SCHOONERS MOVE UP THE HARBOR Homeward bound!--there is magic in the word. Though the first vessel to head to the southward is proud among the fleet, she has a burden of responsibility upon her, for she carries every year news of death and calamity that will break the hearts of many down in Gloucester, and the flags she flaunts so gayly must come to half-mast before she sights the hazy blue of Eastern Point.