re cut or bruised; and two
schooners had parted their tackle and been blown to the southward,
three days' sail. A man died on a Frenchman--it was the same bark that
had traded tobacco with the _We're Heres_. She slipped away quite
quietly one wet, white morning, moved to a patch of deep water, her
sails all hanging anyhow, and Harvey saw the funeral through Disko's
spy-glass. It was only an oblong bundle slid overside. They did not
seem to have any form of service, but in the night, at anchor, Harvey
heard them across the star-powdered black water, singing something that
sounded like a hymn. It went to a very slow tune.

"La brigantine
Qui va tourner,
Roule et s'incline
Pour m'entrainer.
Oh, Vierge Marie,
Pour moi priez Dieu!
Adieu, patrie;
Quebec, adieu!"

Tom Platt visited her, because, he said, the dead man was his brother
as a Freemason. It came out that a wave had doubled the poor fellow
over the heel of the bowsprit and broken his back. The news spread like
a flash, for, contrary to general custom, the Frenchman held an auction
of the dead man's kit,--he had no friends at St Malo or Miquelon,--and
everything was spread out on the top of the house, from his red knitted
cap to the leather belt with the sheath-knife at the back. Dan and
Harvey were out on twenty-fathom water in the Hattie S., and naturally
rowed over to join the crowd. It was a long pull, and they stayed some
little time while Dan bought the knife, which had a curious brass
handle. When they dropped overside and pushed off into a drizzle of
rain and a lop of sea, it occurred to them that they might get into
trouble for neglecting the lines.

"Guess 'twon't hurt us any to be warmed up," said Dan, shivering under
his oilskins, and they rowed on into the heart of a white fog, which,
as usual, dropped on them without warning.

"There's too much blame tide hereabouts to trust to your instinks," he
said. "Heave over the anchor, Harve, and we'll fish a piece till the
thing lifts. Bend on your biggest lead. Three pound ain't any too much
in this water. See how she's tightened on her rodin' already."

There was quite a little bubble at the bows, where some irresponsible
Bank current held the dory full stretch on her rope; but they could not
see a boat's length in any direction. Harvey turned up his collar and
bunched himself over his reel with the air of a wearied navigator. Fog
had no special terrors for him now. The