"There are the fleets," said the skipper one day, pointing out over
the bow. "We'll make a round of the fleets, and you'll have a chance
to get busy patching the men up."
And he was busy. There came as many patients every day as any young
doctor could wish to treat. But that was what Grenfell wanted.
As the skipper suggested, the mission boat made a tour of the fleets,
of which there were several, each fleet with its own name and colours
and commanded by an Admiral. There were the Columbias, the Rashers,
the Great Northerners and many others. It was finally with the Great
Northerners that the mission boat took its station.
Grenfell visited among the vessels and made friends among the men, who
were like big boys, rough and ready. They were always prepared to go
into daring ventures. They never flinched at danger. Few of them had
ever enjoyed the privilege of going to school, and none of the men and
few of the skippers could write. They could read the compass just as
men who cannot read can tell the time of day from the clock. But they
had their method of dead reckoning and always appeared to know where
they were, even though land had not been sighted for days.
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