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."