The wind shrilled from the nor west for three bit-<br >ter dawns. The boat shed thermometer， shuddering at ten<br >above， belied the marrow-cutting chill of the crystal Arctic<br >air. The slate-green ocean writhed under this assault and gave<br >up its sun-laden heat of summer in a blanket of swirling steam.<br > Benjamin Steele gave small thought to the cutting cold as<br >he rowed his squat dinghy with short jabs on the oars to his<br >fishing boat， the Agnes T. Benjamin Steele was the fourth<br >generation of Steeles to wrest his living from the waters of<br >Massachusetts Bay. The cold was part of his life.<br > The fifth generation of Steeles， Jason， a strapping lad of<br >nineteen， huddled shivering on the stern thwart of the dinghy.<br >Jason had finished Manchester High in June， and signed on<br >with his father as a net puller for the summer run of mack-<br > erel. They were now working the winter cod. It was this row<br > to work each morning that gave Jason Steele a growing regret，<br > for he detested the cold New England winter， and the whining<br > wind made him wish he had more definite plans for his future.<br > Occasional chunks of harbor ice clumped against tile bow.<br > Benjamin eased the dinghy alongside the boat with a<br > quick jab. In one motion， he had the oars in， stowed， a hand<br ><br >