CHAPTER XVI 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 manœuvred 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.