“Aye, John--and some maids widowed.” The Skipper did not even smile at his own pun. “There ought to be a law, I think,” continued John, “to keep vessels from anchorin’ so close to each other. Take it that night. If the fleet warn’t bunched up so close there wouldn’t ’a’ been half so many lost. Yes, sir, there oughter be a law, don’t you think, Skipper?” “What?” The Skipper came out of his abstraction. “What--oh! a law, eh? And who’d come out here to see it lived up to? Gover’ment vessels? No, John, no law would do. Where there’s good fishin’ there men and vessels will go, and devil take the risk. I know we oughtn’t be huddled in here like we are. I know that if another such breeze as that one ten years ago hits in here to-night there’ll be just as many of us lost as there was that night. Yes, sir, just as many.” He stopped by the companionway to button his sou’wester under his ear--“Good pie that, cook. I hope the tapioca’ll taste as well in the mornin’”--drew on his mitts, and went on deck. Down the companionway soon came his voice. “Everybody up, and give her a little more string. There’s one or two of them beginnin’ to drift a’ready.” They heard his voice roll along the deck then. “Aft there, call all hands to give her more hawser--and the chain with it!” They did so, noting as the chain rattled out that the wind had increased perceptibly. “When this tide’s settin’ back there’ll be _some_ sea kickin’ up here,” they heard their Skipper say. And then his voice again--from aloft this time: “Give her more yet--another fifty fathom.” Down he dropped to the deck with, “It’s goin’ to be hell around here to-night! If ’twas some vessels I’ve been in--or if ’twas the _Katie Morrison_ now, that’s not finished--it’d be slip cables and out of here--and in a hurry. But not in this old packet--’twouldn’t do. She’d most likely split in two tryin’ to beat out, and cert’nly she wouldn’t get back here in a week if the wind hauled. No, sir. But what’s this?” He held up a bare palm. The entire crew began to sniff the air then, and, holding out their palms, to catch and taste whatever the wind had brought. Snow! A howling no’the-easter in shoal water on Georges, the vessel dragging--_And_ snow! The Skipper made no comment. Even after he had made certain of it, he said nothing, nor made any new move--only stood by the fore-rigging and tried to map out in his mind the location of the others of the fleet.