CHAPTER II THE FLEET SETS SAIL
"Come over here to the table and set down," said the cook, with a kindly smile. So tiny was the cabin that one step took Alec to the proffered stool. Ravenously hungry though he was, his surroundings were so new and interesting that for a moment he almost forgot to eat, as he looked around the cabin.
Tiny it was, indeed. And yet everything in it was so compactly arranged that half a dozen men could live in it. In one corner stood a small, square stove, now delightfully hot, with its top guarded by a slender iron railing, like a miniature fence. Alec knew at once that this was to keep the pots and pans from sliding off the stove when the ship was pitching about. Even the dishes were suggestive of rough weather; for the cook had given Alec his coffee in a big bowl, and the huge plate which he was filling up with pork-chops, fried eggs, and steaming fried potatoes, was nothing but a great soup plate. Beside the stove stood a little cupboard, and this, with the stove, practically filled the stern end of the cabin. A coal-oil lamp was fastened to the wall between stove and cupboard.
There was just room enough left in this part of the cabin for the men to pack themselves around the table. The table, however, occupied less space than any table Alec had ever heard of, for it was nothing but two smooth, unpainted boards, perhaps four feet long, and hinged so as to fold together lengthwise. One end of this table now rested in a frame on the port side of the cabin, while the other end was slung from the cabin roof by a rope.
Alec thought he had never tasted anything so good as the pork-chops and fried eggs. Before he knew it, the cook was filling up his plate again, and pouring him a second bowl of coffee. Alec dumped some sugar in it and poured out a generous supply of condensed milk from the tin can the cook shoved toward him.
Now he noticed that the little cabin had a window and a door on each side. The stove and the cupboard occupied the stern end of the cabin. The forward end of the cabin contained bunks, built one above another, along the sides, where several men could sleep. The forward end of the cabin had been converted into a little pilot-house, with glass windows along its entire front and a door at each side, where the captain operated the boat.
For, like most of the oyster craft, the Bertha B had been changed from sailing ship to power boat. The four-cylindered gasoline engine that drove the ship and operated the oyster-dredges stood immediately below the cabin bunk room. Alec could see the engine, for a little hatchway in the floor of the cabin led directly to the engine room. The hatch was open and Alec could see a man oiling and adjusting the engine, preparatory to getting under way.
When Alec had eaten his fill, the cook began to wash the dishes. Alec picked up a dish towel and dried them. The cook seemed surprised and pleased. Alec stacked the dishes away in a tiny cupboard behind the bunks, at the cook's direction, while the cook folded up the table and stowed it in a rack overhead, leaving the tiny cabin clear and orderly.
"Thanks," smiled Dick, when they had finished; and the way the cook spoke made Alec feel that he had won a friend.
"If a little thing like drying the dishes will win friends for a fellow," said Alec to himself, "I'll wipe them every time I get a chance. I never realized until the last few weeks how much friends mean to a fellow."
To the cook he said, "Will it be all right for me to go on deck?"
"Sure," said the cook. "But put this on." And from a bunk he pulled a heavy reefing-jacket.
Gratefully Alec pulled on the coat and stepped out on deck. By this time the eastern sky was aglow. The fog-bank had dissipated. The sun was not yet up, but there was sufficient light for Alec to see.
The first thing to catch his attention was the ship that had fouled the Bertha B and the boats alongside of her. These craft, as close together as the fingers of one's hand, lay with their noses pointing up-stream. Across the bows of the outermost was jammed the offending vessel, the rushing ebb-tide holding her fast. The end of her bowsprit dangled helplessly and a broken jib-stay was waving about in the wind. Jammed tight in her rigging was the bowsprit of one of the ships she had fouled, holding her tight, like an apple spitted on a stick. But no damage had been done excepting to the offending vessel herself. Men were pushing against the ship with boat-hooks, while Captain Hardy's own crew were pumping at a capstan from which a hawser, stretched tight as a fiddle string, ran to an up-stream pier.
The master of the boat was an evil-looking fellow, as burly as he was hard-featured. In a great, roaring voice he was cursing his crew, blaming them for the mishap he was responsible for himself. With angry impatience Captain Bagley watched the efforts that were making to free the boat.
"The old fool," he muttered, and to Alec he said, "That fellow ought to be doing time at Trenton. He's always up to something crooked. The last time they caught him, he was dredging illegally in the natural beds. He got off with a fine, but I reckon the next time he gets caught in any crooked business, he'll go to prison."
For a few moments Alec watched the sailors pumping at the capstan. Then his gaze shifted to other interesting sights about him.
Down-stream and up, rose a forest of masts; for the pier off which the Bertha B now lay was only one of a score or more parallel piers. And off each pier were moored six or eight vessels, with still other ships at greater distances, tied along the shore beyond the great pier shed. There were scores and scores of boats, mostly two-masted schooners. Across the river, which was perhaps 1,000 feet wide, was a second great pier shed that extended along the shore for hundreds of feet, also with piers running out from it into the river every few rods. And here, and along the shore above and below the piers, were anchored other scores of boats. Altogether, the oyster fleet numbered some hundreds of vessels.
On every ship were signs of activity. In every rigging red and green lights already sparkled, or men were about to hoist them. On some ships white lights glimmered aloft; while more and more boats were showing white lights at their sterns.
Fascinated, Alec watched the scene. For ship after ship, on either side of the river, now cast off her lines, swung gracefully with the current and headed down-stream. On every hand rose the steady put-put-put of ships' motors. For although most of the oyster craft still carried sails, practically all of them were driven by gasoline, their sails being used merely as auxiliaries to their engines, or to steady them when dredging in a wind.
And now Alec saw something that made his eyes fairly pop open with astonishment. Down-stream came a shapely schooner, sails set and bellying in the wind. But it was neither wind nor tide that drove her so fast. For behind her, immediately below her white stern light, was a chugging motor-boat, nose hard against the schooner, pushing her along at a merry pace. Alec could hardly trust his eyes. For the little motor-boat was fastened with its nose high in air and its stern deep in the tide, and had not a soul aboard of her. But above her, at the wheel on the stern of the schooner, stood a silent steersman. While Alec was debating with himself as to whether he should believe what he saw or not, a second oyster-boat came slipping by, also driven by a little power boat astern. Before he reached the oyster-beds, Alec saw dozens of boats so operated; and the cook told him that when the oyster-boats changed from sail power to motors, some ships, like the Bertha B, had had engines installed in their holds, while others were driven instead by small power boats.
Presently the ship across their bow was pulled loose, freeing the little fleet. The outer vessel immediately cast loose, swung in the tide, and headed down the river. Meantime, a bell rang, there was a sudden chug-chug-chug alongside, the clank of machinery was heard below, and the Bertha B began to vibrate. The captain was warming up his motor.
Then, "Cast off!" came the order from the pilot-house. The hawsers were hauled aboard. The Bertha B moved forward, described a great arc in the river, and headed for the sea.
Wonderful was the sight that now greeted Alec's eyes. Like a flock of closely herded sheep, the oyster-boats were making for the dredging grounds. Before him, beside him, and behind him, their sails showing faintly in the dim light, Alec saw scores of moving ships. Now he understood the purpose of all the lights he had seen hoisted. Ahead of him dozens of stern lights shone white, showing exactly where each ship was riding. And astern, red and green lights flashed their guiding signals.
As the light grew stronger, the scenes around the Bertha B stood out more and more distinctly. Accustomed as Alec was to mountains and limited views, the pictures that now unfolded before his eyes were like visions of a new world. The view was boundless. At least, it stretched level to the distant horizon in every direction. East, west, north, south, look where he would, the land was as level as a floor. The river wound about like a snake, and after the Bertha B had traversed one or two of these serpentine reaches, she seemed to be in the centre of a vast marsh-land. Everywhere stretched limitless areas of salt meadow. Cattails, tall rushes, reeds, salt hay, sedges, and other marshy growths, standing dead and sere, painted the marshes a monotonous brown. The slightest thing that rose above the general level seemed magnified into a great bulk. Here and there distant stacks of salt hay stood up against the sky-line; but they seemed huge, gigantic, unlike any haystacks Alec had ever seen. And here and there, also, stood solitary trees or groups of trees, seemingly thrusting their heads into the very clouds.
But ever the young oysterman's roving eye came back to the moving fleet. Two, three, and sometimes even four abreast, trailing close on one another's heels, the white oyster-boats moved out to sea in majesty. Overhead sailed innumerable gulls, watching for the scraps thrown from nautical breakfast tables. And when some cook stepped to his deck and dumped his table scrapings overboard, gulls came darting from far and near and settled down to fight and cry over the spoils.
Suddenly Alec heard the captain's voice. "Come in here, youngster. I want to talk with you."
Alec made his way through the cabin into the pilot-house, which was just deep enough to allow a person to stand comfortably or to sit on a stool. The floor of the pilot-house was considerably higher than the deck level, and Alec could see much better here. Also, it was warm. And although he had been so fascinated by the scene that he had momentarily forgotten about the weather, he now realized that he had been cold out on the deck.
A flash of light caught his eye. Then another light blinked at a much greater distance. "What are those lights?" Alec asked the captain.
"Those are the range-lights, to show the way into the harbor. And off there you can see East Point Light."
Alec followed the pointing finger of the captain and saw, off the port bow, a third light gleaming.
"We seem to be catching those fellows ahead," commented Alec.
"I reckon they're stuck in the mud," said the captain. "This northeast wind's been blowing hard for eighteen hours. It will make pretty low water."
"How much water does the Bertha B draw?" inquired Alec.
"Four or five feet," said the captain.
"Then we ought not to have any trouble," said Alec. "It looks as though this river was pretty deep."
"Oh! There's plenty of water in the river; but there's a bar across the mouth of it, and with this wind blowing there won't be much water over it."
Rapidly the Bertha B drew near the boats ahead of her. "They're all fast," commented the captain, as they passed a schooner on which a sailor was sounding with a pole. "Don't believe he's got three feet of water," the captain added. "And look there! The bar's clear out of water, with a flock of gulls on it. That's a sight you don't often see—the bar out of water."
Alec looked where the captain was pointing, and there, a long distance off the port bow, where the river entered the Delaware Bay, was a distinct black streak in the water, roughened at one end. The rough spots were gulls. But Alec would never have known that the black streak was a strip of mud and the knobby end was a mass of birds, had not the captain told him.
"Are we going to get through?" asked Alec, for the Bertha B was still slowly forging ahead.
"I don't know," said the captain. "We're in the mud now, but we've got a good engine and if we can keep in the channel, maybe we can make it. But she's hard to steer in the mud and most of those boats are right in the channel."
Slowly the Bertha B continued to move through the mud. A short distance ahead of her a schooner lay directly in the path. The captain turned his wheel and tried to swing the Bertha B to one side, but she would not turn. Nearer she came and still nearer to the stranded schooner. But the captain could not turn her. A collision seemed inevitable.
"Let go that starboard dredge," cried the captain to Sailor Bishop, who was still on deck. At the same instant the captain signalled sharply to the engineer. For a single moment the propeller ceased to turn. Then the Bertha B trembled from end to end, as the engine started again, full speed astern. The effect was instantaneous. The Bertha B almost stopped in her tracks. Before ever the sailor could reach the dredge and heave it overboard, the oyster-boat swung slightly to one side and lay still.
"Never mind that dredge," called the captain. To Alec he said, "We're done. All we can do is to lay here and wait for the tide to float us."