Penn doubled up, gasping among the fish, Manuel bowed back and forth to supple himself, and Long Jack leaned over the bulwarks.

The cook appeared, noiseless as a black shadow, collected a mass of backbones and heads, and retreated.
"Blood-ends for breakfast an' head-chowder," said Long Jack, smacking his lips.
"Knife oh!" repeated Uncle Salters, waving the flat, curved splitter's weapon.
"Look by your foot, Harve," cried Dan, below.
Harvey saw half a dozen knives stuck in a cleat in the hatch combing.
He dealt these around, taking over the dulled ones.
"Water!" said Disko Troop.
"Scuttle-butt's for'ard, an' the dipper's alongside.

Hurry, Harve," said Dan.
He was back in a minute with a big dipperful of stale brown water which tasted like nectar, and loosed the jaws of Disko and Tom Platt.
"These are cod," said Disko.

"They ain't Damarskus figs, Tom Platt, nor yet silver bars.

I've told you that every single time sence we've sailed together." "A matter o' seven seasons," returned Tom Platt, coolly.