A RESCUE, AND A GRAND GOOD TIME.
Dab Kinzer and his friend were prompt enough coming to the rescue of
their unfortunate fellow-lubber; but to get him out of the queer wreck
he had made of that punt looked like a tough task to both of them, and
they said as much.
"I isn't drownin'," exclaimed Dick heroically, as the other boat was
pulled alongside of him. "Jest you take your scoop-net, and save dem
crabs."
"They won't drown," said Ford.
"But they'll get away," said Dab, as he snatched up the scoop. "Dick's
head is perfectly level on that point."
The side-boards of the old punt were under water half the time, but the
crabs were pretty well penned in. Even a couple of them, that had
mistaken Dick's wool for another sheep's-head, were secured without
difficulty, in spite of the firmness with which they clung to their
prize.
"What luck he'd been having!" said Ford.
"He always does," said Dab. "I say, Dick, how'll I scoop you in?"
"Has you done got all de crabs?"
"Every pinner of 'em."
"Den you jest wait a minute."
Waiting was all that was left them to do, for the shining black face and
woolly head disappeared almost instantly.
"He's sunk," exclaimed Ford.
"There he comes," replied Dab: "he'd swum ashore from here, and not half
try. Why, I could swim twice as far as that myself, and he can beat me."
"Could you? I couldn't."
That was the first time Dab had heard his city acquaintance make a
confession of inability, and he could see a more than usually thoughtful
expression on his face. The coolness and skill of Dick Lee, in his hour
of disaster, had not been thrown away upon him.
"If I had my clothes off," said Ford, "I believe I'd try that on."
"Dab Kinzer, you's de bes' feller dar is. But wot'll we do wid de old
boat?" burst out Dick, on coming to the surface.
"Let the tide carry her in while we're crabbing. She isn't worth
mending, but we'll tow her home."
"All right," said Dick, as he grasped the gunwale of Dab's boat, and
began to climb over.
"Hold on, Dick."
"I is a-holdin' on."
"I mean, wait a bit. Ain't you wet?"
"Of course I's wet."
"Well, then, you stay in there till you get dry It's well you didn't
have your new clothes on."
"Ain't I glad 'bout dem!" enthusiastically ex-claimed the young African.
"Nebber mind dese clo'es. De water on 'em's all good, dry water, like de
res' ob de bay."
And, so saying, Dick tumbled over in, with a spatter which made Ford
Foster tread on two of three crabs in getting away from it. It was not
the first time, by many, that Dick Lee had found himself bathing in that
bay without any time given him to undress.
And now it was discovered that the shipwrecked crabber had never for one
instant lost his hold of the line, to the other end of which was
fastened his precious sheep's-head.
They made a regular crabbing crew now,--two to pull up, and one to scoop
in; and never had the sprawling game been more plentiful on that
pasture, or more apparently in a greedy hurry to be captured.
"What on earth shall we do with them all?" asked Ford.
"Soon's we've got enough for a mess for both our folks," said Dab,
"we'll quit this, and go for some fish. The clams are good bait, and we
can try some of your tackle."
Ford's face brightened a good deal at that suggestion, for he had more
than once cast a crest fallen look at his pretentious box. But he
replied,--
"A mess! How many crabs can one man eat?"
"I don't know," said Dab. "It depends a good deal on who he is. Then, if
he eats the shells, he can't take in so many."
"Eat de shells? Yah, yah, yah! Dat beats my mudder! She's allers
a-sayin' wot a waste de shells make," laughed Dick. "I jest wish we
might ketch some fish. I dasn't kerry home no crabs."
"It does look as if we'd got as many as we'll know what to do with,"
remarked Dab, as he looked down on the sprawling multitude in the bottom
of the boat. "We'll turn the clams out of the basket, and fill that; but
we mustn't put any crabs in the fish-car. We'll stow 'em all forward."
The basket held more than half a bushel, but there was still a "heap" of
what Ford Foster called "the crusties" to pen up in the bow of the boat.
That duty attended to, the grapnel was pulled up, and Dick was set at
the oars, while Dab selected from Ford's box just the hooks and lines
their owner had made least account of.
"What'll we catch, Dab?"
"'Most anything. Nobody knows till he's done it. Perch, porgies,
cunners, black-fish, weak-fish, maybe a bass or a sheep's-head, but more
cunners than any thing else, unless we strike some flounders at the turn
of the tide."
"That's a big enough assortment to set up a fish-market on."
"If we catch 'em. We've got a good enough day, anyhow, and the tide'll
be about right by the time we get to work."
"Why not try here?"
"'Cause there's no fish to speak of, and because the crabs'll clean your
hook for you as fast as you can put the bait on. We must go out to
deeper water and better bottom. Dick knows just where to go. You might
hang your line out all day and not get a bite, if you didn't strike the
right spot."
Ford made no answer, but looked on very seriously while Dab skilfully
slit up a tough old Dutch clam into bait. It was beginning to dawn upon
him that he could teach the "'long-shore boys," whether black or white,
very little about fishing. He even allowed Dab to pick out a line for
him, and to put on the hook and sinker; and Dick Lee showed him how to
fix his bait, "so de fust cunner dat rubs agin it won't knock it off.
Dem's awful mean fish. Good for nuffin but 'teal bait."
A merry party they were; and the salt water was rapidly drying from the
garments of the colored oars-man, as he pulled strongly and skilfully
out into the bay, and around toward a deep cove at the north of the
inlet mouth.
Then, indeed, for the first time in his life, Ford Foster learned what
it was to catch fish.
Not but what he had spent many an hour, and even day, on and about other
waters, with a rod or a line in his hand; but he had never before had
two such born fishermen at his elbow to take him to the right place
precisely, and at the right time, and then to show him what to do when
he got there.
It was fun enough; for the fish bit remarkably well, and some of those
which came into the boat were of a very encouraging size and weight.
There was one curious thing about those heavier fish.
Ford would have given half the hooks and lines in his box, if he could
have caught from Dick or Dab the mysterious "knack" they seemed to have
of coaxing the biggest of the finny folk to their bait, and then over
the side of the boat.
"There's some kind of favoritism about it," he remarked.
"Never mind, Ford," replied Dab. "Dick and I are better acquainted with
them. They're always a little shy with strangers, at first. They don't
really mean to be impolite."
Favoritism it was, nevertheless; and there was now no danger but what
Dick would be able to appease the mind of his mother without making any
mention of the crabs.
At last, almost suddenly, and as if by common consent, the fish stopped
biting, and the two "'long shore boys" began to put away their lines.
"Going to quit?" asked Ford.
"Time's up, and the tide's turned," replied Dab.
"Not another bite, most likely, till late this evening. We might as well
pull up, and start for home."
"That's a curious kind of a habit for fish to have."
"They've all got it though, 'round this bay."
"Mus' look out for wot's lef' ob de ole scow, on de way home," remarked
Dick a little solemnly. "I's boun' to ketch it for dat good-for-noting
ole board."
"We'll find it, and tow it in," said Dab; "and perhaps we can get it
mended. Anyhow, you can go with us next week. We're going to make a
cruise in Ham Morris's yacht. Will you go?"
"Will I go? Yoop!" almost yelled the excited boy. "Dat's jest de one
t'ing I'd like to jine. Won't we hab fun! She's jest de bes' boat on dis
hull bay. You ain't foolin' me, is yer?"
He was strongly assured that his young white associates were in sober
earnest about both their purpose and their promise; and, after that, he
insisted on rowing all the distance home.
On the way the old punt was taken in tow; but the tide had already swept
it so far inside the mouth of the inlet, that there was less trouble in
pulling it the rest of the way. It was hardly worth the labor, but Dab
knew what a tempest the loss of it might bring around the ears of poor
Dick.
When they reached the landing, and began to over-haul their very
brilliant "catch," Dabney said,--
"Now, Dick, take your string home, leave that basket of crabs at Mr.
Foster's, and then come back with the basket, and carry the rest of 'em
to our house. Ford and I'll see to the rest of the fish."
"I haven't caught half as many as you have, either of you," said Ford,
when he saw with what even-handed justice the fish were divided in three
piles, as they were scooped out of the fish-car.
"What of that?" replied Dab. "We follow fishermen's rules, down this
way. Share and share alike, you know. All the luck is outside the boat,
they say. Once the fish are landed, your luck's as good as mine."
"Do they always follow that rule?"
"The man that broke it wouldn't find company very easily, hereabouts,
next time he wanted to go a-fishing. No, nor for any thing else.
Nobody'd boat with him."
"Well, if it's the regular thing," said Ford hesitatingly. "But I'll
tell who really caught 'em."
"Oh, some of yours are right good ones! Your string'd look big enough,
some days, just as you caught 'em."
"Would it?"
"Yes, it would. Don't you imagine we can pull 'em in every time like we
did this morning,--crabs nor fish."
"No, I s'pose not. Anyhow, I've learned some things."
"I guess likely. We'll go for some more next week. Now for a tug."
"Ain't they heavy, though!"
The boat had already been made fast; and the two boys picked up their
strings of fish, two for each, after Dick Lee had started for home; and
heavy things they were to carry under that hot sun.
"Come and show the whole lot to my mother," said Ford, "before you take
yours into the house. I'd like to have her see them all."
"All right," replied Dab, but he little dreamed what was coming; for,
when he and Ford marched proudly into the sitting-room with their finny
prizes, Dabney found himself face to face with, not good, sweet-voiced
Mrs. Foster, but, as he thought, the most beautiful young lady he had
ever seen.
Ford Foster shouted, "Annie! You here? Well, I never!"
But Dab Kinzer wished all those fish safely back again swimming in the
bay.