Зима тревоги нашей

           LastnightIsawthemoononlyfourdaysgrownlikeathickened,curvedsurgeon’sneedle,butstrongenoughtopullthetideintothecavemouthofthePlace.

           NoneedtovisitDanny’sshackinhope.ThelighthadcomeenoughtoseethegrassesstandinguprightinthepathwhereDanny’sfeethadstumbledthemflat.

           OldHarborwasfleckedwithsummercraft,slimhullswithsailscoveredingrommetedcoatsofcanvas,andhereandthereamorningmanmadeready,clearingboomandcoilingjib-andmainsheets,unbagginghisGenoalikeagreatwhiterumplednest.

           Thenewharborwasbusier.Charterboatstiedcloseforboardingpassengers,thefranticsummerfishermenwhopayapriceandglutthedeckswithfishandintheafternoonwondervaguelywhattodowiththem,sacksandbasketsandmountainsofporgiesandblowsandblackfish,searobins,andevenslenderdog-fish,alltobetornupgreedily,todie,andtobethrownbackforthewaitinggulls.Thegullsswarmandwait,knowingthesummerfishermenwillsickenoftheirplenty.Whowantstocleanandscaleasackoffish?It’shardertogiveawayfishthanitistocatchthem.

           Thebaywasoil-smoothnowandthebrasslightpouredoverit.Thecansandnunsstoodunswayingonthechanneledge,eachonewithitsmirrortwinupsidedownbelowitinthewater.

           Iturnedattheflagpoleandwarmemorialandfoundmynameamongthesurvivingheroes,theletterspickedoutinsilver—CAPT.E.A.HAWLEY—andbelowingoldthenamesoftheeighteenNewBaytownmenwhodidn’tmakeithome.