Mazard since, when reading some of the "strong points" of our worthy scientists.
"How deep is it here, for a guess ?" asked Wade.
"Oh! for a guess, a hundred fathoms; about that." "Too deep for cod-fishing here ?" Raed inquired.
"Rather deep.

We'll try them, however, in the morning." Suddenly, as we were talking, a horn--a genuine old-fashioned dinner-horn--pealed out, seemingly not a hundred yards ahead.
"Port your helm there!" shouted the skipper to Bonney, who was at the wheel.

The old sea-dog, Trull, caught up a tin bucket setting near, and began drumming furiously; while the skipper, diving down the companion way, brought up a loaded musket, which he hastily discharged over his head.
"Shout, halloo, scream!" he sang out to us.

"Make all the noise you can, to let them know where we are!" The schooner sheered off, minding her helm; and, at the same moment, we saw the dim outline of a small vessel almost under the bows.
"What ship is that ?" demanded Capt.

Mazard.
"Schooner 'Catfish' of Gloucester," replied a boyish voice.
"Where bound ?" "Home." "Can you give us the latitude ?" "Can't do it, skippy.