THE PLANTING SEASON BEGINS
Weeks passed. The oyster business grew duller and duller. More and more
ships were laid up for the winter. For days at a time the _Bertha B_ lay
fast at her pier. To a lad of Alec's energetic, impatient nature, it was
a trying period. There was so little that he could do. From bowsprit to
taffrail he already knew every rope and stick and implement on an
oyster-boat, and the uses of them all. He knew the various parts of the
engine and comprehended their functions. He had already learned how to
splice a rope, reef a sail, bend on a line, cast a hawser, and do a
thousand other tasks aboard ship. Ashore, he had inquired into every
phase of the oyster business he could think of. Like Alexander, he
sighed for more worlds to conquer; for it seemed to Alec as though there
was nothing new left for him to do. He felt like a soldier marking time.
He was going through the motions, perhaps, but not advancing. And to
Alec's impatient nature, that meant that he was wasting his time,
throwing away the only capital he possessed.
In reality his time was far from wasted. Though he did not realize it,
he was continually picking up knowledge that was to be of use to him.
Always he was on the alert. Ever he was asking questions. Continually he
was weighing this and that practice in his mind. And from night to
night, as he sat in the warm cabin of the _Bertha B_, talking with the
skipper and Joe, both of whom lived aboard with him, he absorbed a vast
fund of useful and practical information.
Of this fact Alec was hardly conscious. To him it seemed as though he
were merely killing time by listening to the engaging yarns of the
skipper; for Captain Bagley, like all real sailors, could tell the most
fascinating stories of the sea. But through the medium of these stories
Alec unconsciously picked up a great deal of information about the
waters he would have to navigate as an oysterman, about the currents,
the tides, the winds, the storms, the calms--in short about the very
things he needed to know. Whenever he heard the least thing that was
likely to be of use to him, he unconsciously singled it out and put it
away in the storehouse of his memory.
For to Alec, as to every real thinker, it was given to learn through the
experiences of others quite as much as through his own experiences.
Indeed, Alec early had seen the folly of learning through his own
experience if he could possibly learn through that of another. It might
be true, he knew, that experience is the best teacher. But he quickly
saw that he is a fool who learns only through his own experience. So,
although the time seemed to drag, and he chafed under the enforced
idleness, Alec was really acquiring something worth while all the time.
Any one does who is really desirous of learning.
But on one account Alec was not sorry because things were so dull. He
saw a great deal of Elsa. Alec's bright, cheerful ways had endeared him
to the entire Rumford family. The shipper welcomed him to his home
because he felt that he would rather have Elsa associate with Alec than
with most of the lads he knew. The others might be all right or they
might not be. Alec was true as steel. In a hundred ways the shipper had
seen him tested. He _knew_ about Alec.
Had Alec realized these things he would have been both gratified and
puzzled--gratified to know that the captain really did think so well of
him, yet puzzled to know why it was so. For in some ways Alec was
singularly childlike. At the captain's home or in the captain's presence
he had not acted in any way different from the way he always acted. What
Alec did not realize was how fine at heart he really was. But though
Alec did not comprehend these things about himself, the shipper
understood them readily enough. And he knew, as well as he knew
anything, that if he himself lived his allotted time, he would see the
day when Alec stood at the very top of the oyster business. It is just
as impossible to keep down a lad like Alec, as it is to dam back
forever the waters of a stream. Either may be held back for a time. In
the end both will break through.
One thing these days of idleness did for Alec that he did not comprehend
at all. They gave him to the last measure the full coöperation and
sympathy of Elsa. In an intangible way that neither understood or
appreciated their relationship underwent a very real change.
By this time Alec's plans for the future were beginning to take tangible
form. His ideas had crystallized. They were concrete enough to talk
about in exact terms. And Alec wanted to talk about them. He wanted to
discuss them with some one who could comprehend and sympathize with his
plans, and yet criticize them in a friendly, intelligent way. Jim
Hawley, though big of heart, hadn't the kind of mind to grasp what Alec
was aiming at; Captain Bagley would have been indifferent to the matter;
and Captain Rumford would have regarded Alec's plans as the veriest
rubbish. Besides these three, there were no men in the oyster fleet with
whom Alec would have been willing to discuss his plans.
Elsa met every requirement. When Alec told her what was in his mind she
comprehended exactly what he meant, she sympathized fully with his
position, she passed judgment on his schemes with the friendliest sort
of criticism. It was exactly the sort of help Alec needed most. It gave
him increased confidence in his own plans and stiffened his courage. He
knew that Elsa understood him and sympathized with him fully and he
needed such sympathetic understanding and encouragement if he were to
win through.
As the days lengthened and winter drew near to spring, there was more
activity in the oyster fleet. Planters began to inquire for shells.
Farmers began to bring loads of stakes with which to mark the
oyster-beds afresh. Boats were overhauled. Propellers were removed from
power craft or boxed in such a way as to render them useless, for the
law prohibited any power boats from going on the natural oyster-beds.
Nothing but sails could be used in dredging seed-oysters.
Then at last came the planting season itself, the great event in the
oysterman's year. From far and wide a huge fleet assembled. Every boat
that could still carry a sail and drag a dredge joined the assembly. The
river was fairly jammed with oyster-boats. At every pier ship after ship
made fast until the rows of boats extended far out into the stream. The
piers themselves took on new life. Now they fairly hummed with activity.
Ships were freshly provisioned. New supplies of all sorts were brought
aboard. Chains and dredges were examined and stowed in the holds. Great
crews were recruited, double or triple the size of the crews ordinarily
carried. From miles around came every able-bodied man to join the fleet.
Ships were continually passing to and from oyster-beds, where new stakes
were being put down and everything possible done in advance to get
ready for the actual planting.
Then came the great day, the first of May. On the afternoon before, ship
after ship cast loose and headed for the oyster grounds. Now Alec saw a
sight that stirred his blood and made his heart beat faster. Down the
river went the fleet, ship after ship, dozens, scores, hundreds of them,
heeling in the wind, their sails shining in the sun, like a wondrous
flock of huge, white birds.
Like schoolboys on a lark were the men aboard these ships. Like Alec,
they had chafed at their enforced idleness. The feeling of spring was in
their blood. The spirit of fun was abroad among them. Laughter rose from
every deck. Across the water voice called to voice. Old friends greeted
one another across the dancing waves. Skipper hailed skipper. To right
and left challenges were flung, and boat after boat picked up her heels
to prove her master's assertion that she was faster than her neighbor. A
dozen races were staged at once.
So the fleet proceeded, like a great covey of birds, out of the
sheltering river and into the open Bay. Across the oyster-beds raced the
rolling vessels, now spread out in wide array, pressing on and on until
they joined their fellows who had come before, and dropped their anchors
at the very side of the Southwest Line, where the state had said, "Thus
far and no farther, shalt thou go."
Now Alec witnessed a sight that thrilled him as few things in all his
life had done. Nightfall found practically every ship in the fleet
anchored near the line. North, east, south, and west of the _Bertha B_
oyster-boats lay at rest. Aloft a white light glimmered on every ship.
And as the boats moved ever so slightly in the gentle swell, these lamps
aloft swayed slowly back and forth, as though signalling one to another.
The weather was balmy, the night was lighted by a radiant moon. The
gentlest of breezes sighed through the rigging. The beauty of the night
drew Alec on deck as irresistibly as a powerful magnet draws a piece of
steel. For a time he stood by the ship's rail, looking at the gently
heaving water, studying the swirls in the tide, as they shone and
sparkled in the moonlight, listening to the gentle slap! slap! slap! of
the waves against the oaken sides of the _Bertha B_.
From her cabin, and from the cabins of sister ships arose the sound of
laughter, the noise of raucous voices. In the calm and holy beauty of
the night they seemed out of place. To Alec's sensitive soul they were
as discordant as the rasping tones of a horse fiddle. He wanted to get
away from them, where he could drink in the beauty of the scene
undisturbed; where he could steep himself in the spirit of the night. So
he clambered up the rigging and perched himself on the crosstrees.
Now he was like one in a tower. He could see far and wide. Beneath him
the white ships, huddled together, made him think of a flock of sheep,
herded for the night. And afar off on the dancing water Alec saw the
laggards of the flock hastening toward the fold. Like little white
specks they seemed in the far distance. Then, as they drew nearer and
nearer, their sails seemed to grow larger and larger, until suddenly
they appeared gigantic. With majestic flight, like the sweep of darting
gulls, they bore to right or left, seeking their places of rest. Then
came the faint splash of anchors, the rattling sound of tackle blocks as
the great white wings were lowered, and presently peace.
One by one the cabin lamps were doused, until only sailing lights shone
throughout the fleet. One by one the raucous voices were stilled, and
peace enfolded the nestling ships as a hen hovers above her little ones.
Still Alec sat in the crosstrees, watching the swaying lights, studying
the swirling waters, peering along the moon's broad path of gold that
seemed to lead straight from the little fleet to the Shepherd keeping
watch above.
When or how Alec got to bed he never knew. It seemed to him as though he
had only just turned in when he heard Dick punching up the fire. In a
moment he was afoot, for this was no time for laggards. It was well
enough to dream in the moonlight, when the day's work was done; but this
was the time for action, the time to turn his dreams into something
tangible. For before them lay the prize, free for the taking the moment
the sun's rising disc should touch the horizon. He who would grasp it
must be ready.
Throughout the fleet arose the sounds of preparation. Lights glowed in
every cabin. Lanterns bobbed on every deck. From every direction came
the creak of tackle blocks as sails were hoisted. Here and there
capstans clanked, as enterprising skippers hoisted anchor, to jockey for
more advantageous positions. For the moment the sun arose, the entire
fleet would sweep over the line in the race for the coveted oyster-seed.
Some boats were heading east and some were going west in the hope of
bettering their positions.
As the light increased, the breeze freshened. The water began to dance
beneath its touch. Over all rested a slight haze, intensified here and
there, by wisps of smoke from cabin fires. And curling upward from the
surface of the Bay, rose little cloudlets of mist or fog. Streaks of
color crept into the eastern sky, growing, little by little, until the
firmament was a gorgeous, glowing tapestry of gold, shot with purple,
pink, and orange.
From every side now rose the rattling of anchor chains, the clank of
capstans, the creaking of the tackle. In increasing numbers the
oyster-boats spread their wings and slipped away. Soon not a ship lay at
anchor. Like a mammoth flock of giant gulls, the oyster-boats were
darting here and there, their fresh, white sails shining in the morning
glow, as they bellied in the wind. Rare, indeed, was the sight; rare and
wonderful. For hundreds of ships were now in motion, the waves foaming
white at their bows, the spray splashing upward on their decks, and in
their wakes yeasty patterns of swirling water. At every stern stood a
silent figure, twirling his wheel now this way, now that, watchful of
the east and the mounting color there.
Now sweeping near the line, now darting away, now weaving in and out
among her sister ships, the _Bertha B_ skimmed over the waves with the
grace of a gull, about to swoop on its prey. Her crew were on deck,
ready to spring to dredge or tackle. Her captain stood at his wheel,
silent, watchful as a hawk.
Suddenly the fiery rim of the sun peered over the edge of the world. A
thousand watchful eyes beheld it, and a great shout went up from the
fleet. Over went the rudders, around swung the ships, and the entire
fleet darted straight for the line that marked their goal.
"Let go the dredges!" thundered the skipper, as the _Bertha B_ swept
over the mark, and a splash arose on either side of the boat as the
dredges struck the waves.
From hundreds of other craft dredges were falling into the sea. With
every sail set, the speeding oyster-boats tugged at their loads as
restive dogs straining at the leash. Now there was no engine to do the
hoisting; but men stood in pairs at the winders, ready to reel up the
windlasses and lift the laden dredge. How they worked! How they turned
their reels! How the dredges came plunging over the rollers! How the
oysters poured out on the decks! How the nimble fingers flew to cull the
glistening piles! How the shovels flashed, and the shells glinted in the
sun, as strong arms heaved them back into the sea! How the piles of
tiny oysters grew!
What a sight it was! From far and near, from east and west, from north
and south, from every oyster town about the Bay, came scores of boats to
add their shining sails to the great fleet. Look where he would, Alec
could see ships sweeping along before the breeze, their decks crowded
with toiling men, bulking high with oysters. Never, as long as he lived,
would he forget that scene.
Hour after hour the work went on. Basket by basket the piles of oysters
grew. The bow was full of them. The after deck was buried under them.
The cabin was hidden by them. Still the work went on. The _Bertha B_
sank lower and lower in the water, as ton after ton was piled on her
deck.
Suddenly there was a sharp command from the skipper. The dredges went
overboard no more. The _Bertha B_ heeled far over in the wind, swung
wide to avoid her sister ships, and headed for her oyster grounds.
Heavily she rode the waves, plowing bodily through them. Through the
fleet she sailed, over the Southwest Line, and on to her planting
grounds. Near and far, other laden ships sailed with her. And now she
had reached her grounds. How the shovels flew, how the tiny oysters went
splashing into the sea, flung far and wide from either side. Back and
forth, back and forth, sailed the _Bertha B_, while skilled hands spread
the precious seed.
Now her deck was empty. To the last oyster it had been cleaned. Sharp
about swung the little vessel, crowding on all sail, taking advantage of
every wind, hastening back to the seed grounds.
Day after day, in rain and in shine, in fog and when the sun shone
clear, with the wind whistling sharp and in days of calm, the _Bertha B_
sailed back and forth over the breeding grounds, and to and from her
planting beds. And every hand aboard of her toiled to his utmost. No
more did the little vessel nightly seek her harbor. No more did the
fleet sail in and out with each rising and setting of the sun. And when
the planting was finished, came the shelling of the grounds, the _Bertha
B_ daily bringing huge deck loads of shells to scatter on the bottom of
the beds.
During the spring planting days Alec learned what it meant to sleep in
the cradle of the deep. Sometimes the moon fell soft on the sleeping
waters, when he sought his bunk. And again inky clouds blotted out the
stars, and the wind soughed ominously through the rigging, or storms
whistled past the ship's bare poles, as she wallowed at her anchor in
the rolling waves. But soon it was all one to Alec. He was doing a man's
work. He was toiling like a Trojan. And neither the lure of the
moonbeams nor the roar of a storm could long keep him from his bunk,
once night had come.
By the end of June, when the planting season was over, and the _Bertha
B_ for the last time lifted her anchor and homeward winged her way, Alec
had become a sailor as well as an oysterman. He had learned a
tremendous lot, not only about oysters, but also about handling a ship.
Once he had thought he was a sailor, when he manoeuvred his little boat
at home. Now he smiled at the memory of those earlier efforts. They
seemed childish, indeed. For more than once he had been allowed to
handle the _Bertha B_ as she flew across the Bay. And he had picked up a
tremendous lot of information about currents, eddies, drifts, shoals,
tides, slicks, and storms. He was getting his tool-kit thoroughly
stocked indeed. It was well, for he would soon have need of all the
skill and knowledge he possessed.