The Young Wireless Operator--With the Oyster Fleet
_BOOKS BY_
LEWIS E. THEISS
IN CAMP AT FORT BRADY. A Camping Story. 304 pages.
HIS BIG BROTHER. A Story of the Struggles and Triumphs of a Little
Son of Liberty. 320 pages.
LUMBERJACK BOB. A Tale of the Alleghanies. 320 pages.
THE WIRELESS PATROL AT CAMP BRADY. A Story of How the Boy Campers,
Through Their Knowledge of Wireless, "Did Their Bit." 320 pages.
THE SECRET WIRELESS. A Story of the Camp Brady Patrol. 320 pages.
THE HIDDEN AERIAL. The Spy Line on the Mountain. 332 pages.
THE YOUNG WIRELESS OPERATOR--AFLOAT. How Roy Mercer Won His Spurs
in the Merchant Marine. 320 pages.
THE YOUNG WIRELESS OPERATOR--AS A FIRE PATROL. The Story of a Young
Wireless Amateur Who Made Good as a Fire Patrol. 352 pages.
THE YOUNG WIRELESS OPERATOR--WITH THE OYSTER FLEET. How Alec
Cunningham Won His Way to the Top in the Oyster Business. 328
pages.
Cloth Bound--Illustrated by Colored Plates and Photographs
[Illustration]
The Young Wireless Operator--
With the Oyster Fleet
_HOW ALEC CUNNINGHAM WON HIS
WAY TO THE TOP IN THE
OYSTER BUSINESS_
By
LEWIS E. THEISS
_ILLUSTRATED BY_
FRANK T. MERRILL
[Illustration: Logo]
W. A. WILDE COMPANY
CHICAGO BOSTON
_Copyright_, 1922,
BY W. A. WILDE COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
THE YOUNG WIRELESS OPERATOR--WITH THE OYSTER FLEET
_This book is dedicated
to the late
DR. JULIUS NELSON,
sometime biologist for New Jersey,
and to
DR. THURLOW C. NELSON,
his son and successor, who have done and
are doing for the oyster industry, what
Liebig did for agricultural chemistry_
Foreword
The story of America's wonderful beds of oysters is the same as the
story of her matchless forests, her remarkable deposits of oil, her
countless herds of bison, and her innumerable flocks of wild pigeons;
and that story is completely told in one word of five letters--waste.
When our magnificent Pennsylvania forests were cut, millions of feet of
lumber were wantonly wasted, left to rot on the ground after the bark
had been stripped off. When that unequaled pool of oil was discovered at
Spindletop, gushers were allowed to spout for days and hours merely to
gratify the vanity of purse-proud owners, and oil was wasted by the
hundred thousand barrels. We are paying for such wastes to-day in the
high price of lumber and oil. And our children and our children's
children will go on paying the price.
I live on the banks of one of America's noblest rivers, the Susquehanna.
A hundred years ago one could throw a line overboard and draw out fish
without number. Now, one can fish half a day without getting a nibble.
Some day, perhaps, we shall have fish again in the Susquehanna. But it
will be in the same way that we are gradually reforesting our denuded
Pennsylvania mountains--at enormous cost, which means perpetually high
priced lumber. It will be the same with our oysters. The enormous beds,
which, properly conserved, would have supplied the nation with cheap
oysters for generations, are gone.
Most of us know less about oyster production than we do about lumbering
or oil drilling. Yet oystering is one of the few truly picturesque
occupations that survive in American life. This book, like its immediate
predecessor, The Young Wireless Operator--As a Fire Patrol, is written
in the hope that young readers may come to understand the real results
of such wastes--the permanent imposition of unnecessary and burdensome
costs for necessities of life which should be cheap.
Contents
I. A FRIEND IN NEED 9
II. THE FLEET SETS SAIL 18
III. OVER THE BAR 28
IV. DREDGING OYSTERS 42
V. EVENING AT THE OYSTER PIER 56
VI. OVERBOARD IN THE DARK 67
VII. A LETTER FOR ALEC 78
VIII. ALEC'S FIRST LESSON IN OYSTER-CULTURE 89
IX. UNDER A CLOUD 100
X. ALEC'S DECISION 108
XI. A WIRELESS TELEPHONE 118
XII. ALEC GETS A NEW JOB 133
XIII. AN UNLOOKED-FOR FRIEND 150
XIV. THE CORNER-STONE THAT ALEC FOUND 161
XV. A NEW LIGHT 168
XVI. THE PLANTING SEASON BEGINS 180
XVII. A SEARCH FOR TRUTH 193
XVIII. A LONG CHASE 214
XIX. HOME AGAIN 234
XX. THE OSPREY'S NEST 247
XXI. THE GREAT SECRET 264
XXII. THE NEW CAPTAIN OF THE _BERTHA B_ 272
XXIII. ADRIFT IN THE STORM 282
XXIV. MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLY 298
XXV. THE CRISIS 309
XXVI. VICTORY 318
The Young Wireless Operator--With the Oyster Fleet
CHAPTER I
A FRIEND IN NEED
The oyster-boat _Bertha B_ lay off her pier at Bivalve, the great New
Jersey oyster shipping centre. On either side of her were other craft of
the oyster fleet, all packed together like cigars in a box, and all held
fast to one another by stout hawsers, for the tide in the Maurice River
was running out at a gallop, driven by a high northeast wind. Yet an
observer could hardly have told whether one boat or a dozen lay off the
pier, so dark was the November morning. Heavy clouds obscured the sky,
hiding star and moon. Not the faintest sign of daybreak was yet visible
in the east. A dense mist, that even in daylight would have made things
appear uncertain and indistinct, drove before the high wind, chilling to
the bone every one it touched.
For despite the early hour, the oystermen were astir. Lamps glowed in
the snug cabins of the oyster-boats. Here and there a lantern bobbed
mysteriously in the dark. Red and green lights were being hoisted in the
ships' riggings, and white lights fastened astern of many vessels. Harsh
voices were heard calling through the night. The heavy tramp of boots on
wooden decks sounded here and there in the darkness. Now and again there
was a sharp splash as some sailor dropped a bucket into the tide for
water, or a heavy hawser was cast off. On every side was heard the sound
of preparation; for the fleet was about to sail for the oyster grounds.
Suddenly the door of the _Bertha B's_ cabin opened. A great shaft of
yellow light shot athwart the darkness. Two figures emerged from the
cabin.
"Hello, Jim," called one of them. There was no answer. After a moment's
pause the speaker called again. This time he raised his voice to a great
bellow and repeated his cry: "Hello, Jim!" The second call, magnified by
the fog, went roaring through the fleet. Still there was no answer. "He
ain't here, Cap," said the man who had called, to the figure by his
side. "Maybe he went ashore to get some tobacco."
"Tobacco nothing!" exclaimed the other angrily. "The skunk got his
breakfast and then snuk ashore. I ain't surprised. He looked like that
kind o' cattle. Though he did work pretty darned good the three weeks we
had him!"
The speaker, Captain Christopher Bagley, paused an instant. Then,
"Scabby trick!" he exclaimed. "Leaves us deucedly short handed, and he
knowed it. Better go ashore, George, and see if you can find him. If you
can't, get anybody you can pick up. We got to have another hand."
The sailor, George Bishop, turned without a word and made his way
ashore, ducking under ropes and rigging, stumbling over chains and
dredges, and stepping carefully from boat to boat, until at last he
reached the ship at the end of the pier. The tide was near ebb, and the
sailor had to climb into the ship's rigging in order to get on the pier.
The huge shed skirting the shore was dimly lighted by electric lights;
and the illumination from these faintly lighted the pier, along which
the sailor was now making his way. A great pile of burlap sacks was
heaped up near the centre of the pier, and behind these, like a
windbreak, stood a long row of barrels, piled one above another, and at
least three tiers deep. But the sailor took no note of these things. His
glance roved hither and thither through the great shed and on the
various piers, looking for a familiar form. Half-way across the pier, he
met a fellow sailor.
"Hello, Tom!" he called. "Seen anything of Jim Hawley?"
"No. Did he give you the slip?"
"That's what he did. He come aboard and et his breakfast and then snuk
off. And we was short handed at that."
"I ain't surprised. He was drunk last night."
"Well, he won't do it again. Captain Bagley won't stand for that kind
of cattle. Don't know where we could get another hand, do you? We're
awful short of men."
"No, I don't. Everybody around here that's willin' to work was snapped
up long ago. I got to get aboard. I'm late myself. Good-bye."
The sailor hurried on down the pier and swung himself aboard the ship at
its end.
Sailor Bishop turned on his heel and started along the pier again, to
pursue his search for the missing deck-hand. But hardly had he taken a
step before the pile of burlap bags stirred strangely. The topmost rose
in air and a human figure crawled out from under them.
"Hello!" called this figure after the hurrying form of Sailor Bishop.
"Do you want another hand? I'm looking for a job."
Sailor Bishop turned sharply and stared in astonishment at the person
before him.
"Who are you? And where did you come from?" he demanded.
"My name's Alec Cunningham, and I come from Central City, in
Pennsylvania."
"Ever been oystering?"
"No, sir. I never saw an oyster-boat before."
"Don't know whether you'll do or not," said the sailor. "But come aboard
and talk to the captain. I'll be back in a minute. Wait for me here."
The sailor hurried away, to continue his quest for the missing Hawley.
Alec Cunningham returned to the pile of burlap sacks and dug out an old,
battered valise. Then he carefully piled the burlap sacks in order
again, and when Sailor Bishop returned, he was standing near the end of
the pier, stamping his feet and thrashing his arms about his sides, in
an evident effort to get warm.
"Come on," said the sailor, and the two climbed cautiously from the pier
to the ship's rigging and then dropped to her deck. Carefully they made
their way across boat after boat, until at last they reached the _Bertha
B_. Sailor Bishop led the way to the cabin and entered, followed by the
stranger.
"I couldn't find Jim nowhere, Cap," explained the sailor, "but I picked
up this fellow here. He ain't never ketched oysters, but maybe you could
use him at that."
Captain Bagley stepped forward and looked critically at the stranger. He
saw before him a tall, rangy lad of eighteen years, keen of face, with
dark hair, strong nose, mouth, and chin, and with intelligence plainly
stamped on his open, honest countenance.
"What's your name?" demanded the captain.
"Alec C-C-C-Cunningham, sir," replied the lad.
"Do you stutter always?"
"N-N-N-No, sir. I don't stutter at all. I'm just a little
ch-ch-ch-chilly." And the lad shivered violently.
"He was sleeping on the pier in a pile of oyster sacks," said Sailor
Bishop in explanation.
Captain Bagley stepped forward and laid his hand on young Cunningham's
wrist. It was like ice. The captain ran a quick, investigating finger
over the lad's shoulder. "Hell!" he exclaimed. "The kid ain't got
nothin' on."
He turned to the cook who was just cleaning up the breakfast dishes.
"Dick," he said, "give this boy some grub and a bowl of coffee, and make
it hot, too."
Again he turned to the lad before him. "Get over beside the stove," he
said. "Why in the deuce didn't you tell a fellow you were freezing to
death? Sleep out in a pile of oyster sacks! Why didn't you tell a fellow
you had no place to sleep? You could have had a bunk on the _Bertha B_."
Alec Cunningham tried to express his gratitude, but the right words were
hard to find.
"I--I--I'm much obliged to you," he said. "I didn't get here till late
last night and I didn't know anybody, and I didn't want to disturb
strangers. But it _was_ cold."
"Didn't get here till late last night," repeated the captain. "Where do
you come from, and what did you come here for, if you don't know
anything about oystering and don't know anybody here?"
"I thought maybe I could find my uncle," replied Alec.
"Then you do know somebody here," said the captain sharply, and again he
looked searchingly at the lad before him.
"No, sir, I don't," replied Alec. "You see, sir, my father died
recently. My mother has been dead since I was a little baby. I have no
one to live with. So I thought I would look up my uncle. My father used
to tell me about him, but I never saw him. He is an oysterman here at
Bivalve."
"What's his name?"
"Thomas Robinson, sir. He was my mother's brother."
Captain Bagley turned square around. "Now don't that beat the deuce," he
said to himself. After a moment he turned about and faced Alec again.
"My lad," he said in a strangely altered voice, "you just put your
things in that bunk. The _Bertha B_ is your home as long as you want to
stay on her and work--that is, it is if you don't play us any scabby
tricks like that scoundrel who left us in the lurch this morning."
"But you know I don't know anything about the oyster business," said
Alec with hesitation.
"Neither does anybody else when he's born," growled the captain. "We all
had to learn. And unless I can't read faces any longer, you can learn as
good as anybody."
"Then you'll take me as a hand?"
"You're engaged already."
"Oh, sir! I don't know how to thank you. I--I--I was awfully in need of
work. I haven't a cent left. I don't know what I would have done if I
hadn't found work pretty soon. You won't be sorry you hired me."
An idea struck the captain. "When did you eat last?" he demanded
suddenly.
"Yesterday morning, sir," replied the lad.
"Dick, you darned good-for-nothing cook," stormed the captain, "what
are you standing around looking at the kid for? Get busy, or I'll fire
you."
The cook merely smiled. The captain went blustering off to the
wheel-house. Alec looked puzzled, almost alarmed. In perplexity he
turned to the cook.
"What about my uncle?" he inquired. "Won't the captain let me try to
find him? What did I do to make the captain angry?"
"Lad," said the cook kindly, "there ain't no use trying to find your
uncle. He went overboard last spring, when they was h'isting an anchor
on the _Mary Ford_ and the anchor purchase parted. We never seen him
again. He was a buddy of the captain's. If you just behave yourself,
you've got a job with Captain Bagley for life. Now, get busy and eat
your breakfast, for we're going to cast off in a few minutes."
Alec picked up the steaming bowl of coffee that the cook had placed
before him and was about to take a swallow from it when a crashing sound
rent the air and the _Bertha B_ swayed violently at her moorings. The
captain stepped from the wheel-house and ran out on deck. The sound of
angry voices arose. A moment later Captain Bagley came back.
"That old fool, Tom Hardy, has fouled us," he said angrily. "He had too
much sail up. But he'll pay for his foolishness. His bowsprit carried
away. I don't know how we're going to get out of here now. The tide's
jammed him fast! Anyway, you'll have plenty of time to eat, lad. So go
to it. Now mind you fill him up, Dick."