“Well, as I said, it moderated, and we got a chance to fish a little on and off for another week, and the troubles of Jerry with his dory-mate would fill a book that week. ‘It’s two men’s work you have now, Jerry,’ I says to him. ‘’Tisn’t two but three,’ says Jerry. ‘It’s my own work and his work and another man’s work to see he don’t get tangled up in the trawls or capsize the dory or fall over himself and get lost.’ However, fishin’ on and off brought us to yesterday, when, with the wind makin’ all the time, it got too rough toward the evenin’ to put the dories out, and we used the time up till along toward dark in dressin’ what fish we had on deck and cuttin’ fresh bait for next day--to-day that’d be. We’d done all that, and was gettin’ ready to make ourselves comfortable for the night with the Skipper sayin’: ‘Ten thousand more, and I’d swing her off for Gloucester, I would. But another set, and, with any kind of luck, we’ll get that, and then we’ll swing her off.’ He’d only just said that--he was havin’ a mug-up for’ard at the time--when whoever was on watch sticks his head down the gangway, and calls out: ‘Captain, here’s the _Superba_, and she’s goin’ home, I think.’ “‘What!’ says he, and gulps his coffee and leaps for the gangway, and we knew that our notions about a comfortable night might’s well be forgotten. He takes a look at the vessel comin’. ‘That’s Dickie Mason, sure enough. Shake the reef out the mains’l, and we’ll put after her.’ “‘Mason’s under a trys’l, Skipper,’ says big Jerry. “‘And so would I be in that cigar-box,’ says the Skipper. “We drives up and shoots under her stern. ‘Hi-i, Captain Mason!’ sings out our Skipper. “‘Hi-i, Captain O’Donnell,’ hollers Mason. “‘Know me?’ “‘I sure do.’ “‘And this vessel?’ “‘That old wrack?-- I’d know her in a million.’ “‘Would you now? Then swing on your heel and follow her home.’ And then he turns to us, ‘Boom her out now, boys--boom her out--no’west by west and never a slack.’ And off he goes straight for the shoals, with a livin’ south-easterly gale and the black night on us. “‘Twarn’t more than an hour, or maybe two, runnin’ like that, when we couldn’t make out the _Superba’s_ lights any more. The Skipper himself went to the masthead and looked. ‘She’s put to the nothe’ard, I think,’ he said, comin’ down. ‘But then again maybe he isn’t. Maybe he’s put them out. Anyway, we’ll keep on and make a holy show of her--the fine _Superba_, indeed! that don’t dare to follow the _Colleen Bawn_, all wracked as they say she is! Maybe he’ll get his courage up and come after us later, but whatever she does we’ll keep this one as she is.’