Breakwater--and some went
pretty close--up or down would go the wheel, according to which end of
the jetty they came in by, around they would go, and across the flats
and down on the fleet they would come shooting. They breasted into the
hollows like any sea-bird and lifted with every heave to shake the
water from bilge to quarter. They came across with never a let-up,
shaving everything along the way until a good berth was picked out.
Then they let go sails, dropped anchor and were ready for a rest.

Nobody got by our fellows without a word. And we weren't the only crew
of critics. Bungling seamanship would get a slashing here, but there
was none of that. It was all good, but there are degrees of goodness,
of course. First-class seamanship being a matter of course, only a
wonderful exhibition won approval from everybody. And crews coming in,
knowing what was ahead of them, made no mistakes in that harbor.

A dozen ordinary skippers sailed past before a famous fisherman at
length came in. Everybody knew him--a dog, a high-liner, truly a
master mariner. A murmur went up. "There's the boy," said Tommie
Clancy. "I mind last summer when he came into Souris just such a day
as this, but with more wind stirring. 'Twas Fourth of July and we had
all our flags to the peak--and some fine patriotic fights going on
ashore that day--our flag and the English. The harbor was jammed with
seiners and fresh-fishers. You couldn't see room for a dory, looking
at 'em end on. But that don't jar Tom O'Donnell. What does he do? He
just comes in and sails around the fleet like a cup-defender on
parade--and every bit of canvas he had aboard flying--only his crew
had to hang onto the ring-bolts under the wind'ard rail. Well, he
comes piling in, looks the fleet over, sizes up everything, picks out
a nice spot as he shoots around, sails out the harbor again--clean
out, yes sir, clean out--comes about--and it blowing a living gale all
the time--shoots her in again, dives across a line of us, and fetches
her up standing. We could've jumped from our rail to his in
jack-boots, he was that close to us and another fellow the other side.
Slid her in like you slide the cover into a diddy box. Yes, sir, and
that's the same lad you see coming along now--Tom O'Donnell and his
Colleen Bawn."

He certainly was coming on now, and a fine working vessel he had. She
showed it in every move. She came around like a twin-screw launch,
picked out her berth like she h