Brunette Island came up fast and was left astern. The lighthouse on the end of the Fortune pier had not yet been lit as Black Joke came up into the wind a quarter of a mile off shore and hung there, her sails slatting until her crew had lowered them. The engine started with an explosive bark as Kye swung the flywheel and, with Jonathan steering, the schooner swung back on course and eased her way through the narrow entrance into the inner harbor. Fortune’s harbor seemed very small; but small or not, it was jammed with ships. At least twenty schooners lay moored side by side across the upper end, and another dozen lay alongside the wharves. These made up the Fortune banking fleet which would normally have spent the summer on the Grand Banks, dory-fishing for cod. But this spring the harbor had a deserted and abandoned look. There was no sign of life on any of the ships. No sails were bent to their spars. No running rigging stood taut and ready. Decks and upperworks were scruffy with neglect, and paint peeled from rails and planks.
